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I 


CLARENCE 

A  COMEDY  IN  FOU$  ACTS 

BY 
BOOTH  TARKINGTON 

COPYRIGHT,  1921,  BY  N.  BOOTH  TARKINGTON 

ALSO     COPYRIGHT     IN     GREAT     BRITAIN     AND     THE 
X)MINION   OF  CANADA,   1921,  BY   N.  BOOTH   TARKINGTON 

All  Rights  Reserved 


UTION :  Professionals  and  amateurs  are  hereby  warned 
that  "CLARENCE,"  being  fully  protected  under  the 
copyright  laws  of  the  United  States,  Great  Britain  and 
the  Dominion  of  Canada,  is  subject  to  a  royalty,  and 
anyone  presenting  the  play  without  the  consent  of  the 
author  or  his  authorized  agents  will  be  liable  to  the 
penalties  by  law  provided.  Applications  for  the  ama 
teur  acting  rights  must  be  made  to  Samuel  French, 
25  West  45th  Street,  New  York.  Applications  for  the 
professional  acting  rights  must  be  made  to  George  C. 
Tyler,  New  Amsterdam  Theatre  Building,  West  42nd 
Street,  New  York. 


New  York: 
5AMUEL  FRENCH 

Publisher 
25  West  45th  Street 


London : 

SAMUEL  FRENCH,  Ltd. 

26  Southampton  Street 

Strand 


THE  SCENES 

ACT.  I. — The  anteroom  to  Mr.  Wheeler's  private 
office,  New  York. 

ACT  II. — Living    room    of    Mr.    Wheeler's   home, 
Englewood,  N.  J. 

ACT  III.— The  same.     That  evening. 
ACT  IV. — The  same.    Next  morning. 


CLARENCE 


ACT   I 

SCENE. — The  time  is  any  day,  now-a-days.  A  room 
in  the  President's  suite  of  offices  of  an  im 
pressive  financial  Institution  on  the  top  floor 
of  the  Institution's  building  in  Nassau  Street, 
New  York.  This  is  not  a  business  play;  but 
the  details  follow  actuality.  There  are  no  maps 
on  the  walls,  no  signs  on  the  doors,  no  papers 
on  the  table,  there  is  no  token  of  business,  or  of 
any  other  form  of  activity.  There  is  almost 
nothing  in  the  room,  which  is  in  two  shades  of 
brown — a  "dull-finish"  wood  paneling  up  to 
seven  or  eight  feet  on  all  four  walls,  and  above 
that  a  "dull- finish"  plaster.  The  back  wall  is 
broken  by  a  door  c.,  the  R.  wall  has  a  fireplace 
c.,  and  a  mantel  of  brown  wood,  in  type  with 

•  the  paneling,  with  a  clock  upon  it.  There  is  a 
second  door;  it  is  in  the  R.  wall  c. 

Against  the  back  wall  are  two  high-backed 
settles,  or  upholstered  benches  with  backs,  one 
up  R.  the  other  up  LV  flanking  the  door  c.,  and 
another  such  settle  is  placed  at  right  angles  with 
the  R.  wall,  and  just  up  of  the  fireplace  R.C.  An 
other  settle  is  placed  at  right  angles  to  this  one, 
and  facing  the  fire,  forming  an  L  shape  nook. 
These  settles  are  uniformly  upholstered  in  dull 
green  stuff.  There  is  a  chair,  similarly  up 
holstered,  near  the  fireplace,  down  R.  there  is  a 
5 


CLARENCE 

chair  at  a  small  table  up  L.  The  table  is  of  dull 
wood;  plain  and  ex-pensive — with  nothing  on  it. 
Another  chair,  similar  L.C.  A  fire  burns  in  the 
fireplace,  but  no  coal-hod  or  fire-irons  are  seen. 
When  this  fire  is  tended,  a  person  in  uniform 
brings  the  implements  with  him  and  takes  them 
away  with  him  when  he  goes.  (As  such  a  per 
son]  however,  will  not  be  shown  in  the  play,  the 
matter  could  be  explained  to  the  critics  between 
the  acts,  in  the  lobby  of  the  theatre.) 

No  one  is  seen  for  a  moment  or  two.  Then 
there  is  the  sound  of  a  distant  buzzer.  A  mo 
ment  or  two  after  this,  MRS.  MARTYN  enters  up 
L.  She  is  a  "distinguished  looking,"  intelligent 
woman  of  middle-age,  very  quietly  dressed  in 
black,  not  a  new  dress;  she  wears  glasses.  She 
has  no  hat,  and  her  air  is  that  of  a  person  at 
home.  She  goes  directly  to  the  chair  at  the 
table  up  R.  and  sits,  letting  her  hands  rest  in  her 
lap,  her  manner  patiently  expectant,  as  by  a 
familiar  routine. 

Several  moments  elapse;  then  WHEELER  en 
ters  c.  He  is  in  later  middle  age,  a  thoughtful 
man-of-affairs — large  affairs.  His  hair  is  still 
plentiful,  but  not  wavy,  though  there  is  a  some 
what  careless  front  lock  that  curves  down 
enough  for  a  cartoonist  to  seize  in  a  caricature. 
He  is  healthy-looking  and  robust,  but  his  head 
and  shoulders  stoop  a  little.  He  wears  glasses; 
his  "sack"  suit  is  of  dark,  rough  material;  his 
collar  is  winged  in  front,  his  tie  is  dark  with  a 
figure,  or  a  diagonal  stripe.  He  does  not  wear 
a  white  false  collar  with  his  waistcoat.  He  has 
a  short  mustache,  of  course,  and  is  preoccupied. 
He  comes  in  neither  briskly  nor  languidly,  and 
goes  to  the  fire;  where,  not  stooping,  he  warms 
his  hands,  and  chafes  the  palm  of  each  with  its 
own  fingers.  He  greets  MRS.  MARTYN  as  he  is 


CLARENCE  7 

crossing  from  the  door  to  the  fire.    This  is  a 
daily  program  and  there  is  no  liveliness  about  it. 

WHEELER.    Good  morning,  Mrs.  Martyn. 

MRS.  MARTYN.  (Placidly)  Howd'ya-do,  Mr. 
:Wheeler.  (Then,  as  he  warms  his  hands,  WHEELER 
goes  R.)  I  suppose  it  must  be  cold,  motoring  in 
from  the  country  these  mornings. 

WHEELER.  (With  preoccupied  geniality)  No; 
there's  a  heater  in  the  car.  It's  just  habit  for  a  man 
to  go  to  a  fireplace. 

MRS.  MARTYN.  I  hope  Mrs.  Wheeler's  cold  is 
better. 

WHEELER.  (At  fireplace  Rv  faintly  surprised,  ab 
sently)  I  don't  think  my  wife  has  a  cold.  (Frowns 
a  little) 

MRS.  MARTYN.  (Explaining)  The  other  day. 
when  she  came  to  take  you  out  to  lunch  I  got  the 
impression  she  said  she  wasn't  very  well. 

WHEELER.  (Thoughtfully,  with  a  very  slight  note 
of  annoyance)  Oh,  she's  well  enough,  I  think.  May 
have  been  disturbed  about  something.  (As  he  speaks 
he  has  crossed  to  c.)  Have  I  appointments  with 
any  of  those  people  waiting?  (Crosses  to  door  i*) 

MRS.  MARTYN.  No ;  I  haven't  made  any  appoint 
ments  at  all  for  you  this  morning.  At  one  o'clock 
you  go  to  Mr.  Milly's  lunch  for  the  Secretary  of  the 
Interior;  you  have  a  directors'  meeting  at  three — 
the  Unity — and  the  Pitch  Pine  consultation  at  three- 
thirty.  (She  does  not  consult  a  notebook,  nor  dis 
play  a  pencil  or  fountain  pen.)  Mr.  Lindsay  and 
Mr.  Vance  will  do  for  all  the  people  in  the  ante 
room.  (She  seems  to  stop;  he  turns  to  exit  L.  Then, 
with  a  faint  frown  and  half -smile,  she  adds)  Ex 
cept  one,  perhaps. 

WHEELER.    Who's  that? 

MRS.  MARTYN.     (Beginning)     It's  a  soldier  who 


8  CLARENCE 

WHEELER.  In  a  private's  uniform — rather  a  sick 
ly-looking  fellow? 

MRS.  MARTYN.    Yes. 

WHEELER.  I  noticed  him  waiting  out  there  yes 
terday  too. 

MRS.  MARTYN.  They  sent  him  to  Mr.  Vance,  but 
he  wouldn't  tell  what  he  wanted ;  said  he  had  to  see 
you.  Of  course  Mr.  Vance  told  him  that  was  im 
possible;  he  didn't  even  have  a  letter  of  introduc 
tion. 

WHEELER.  (Briefly,  carelessly)  Oh,  well,  he's  a 
soldier;  see  what  he  wants.  (Turns  to  go) 

MRS.  MARTYN.  Very  well.  (WHEELER  starts  to 
go  out  L.,  abruptly  thinks  better  of  it  and  halts.) 

WHEELER.  (Frowning)  Oh — uh (Hesitates 

momentarily)  It's  possible  my  daughter  and  her 
governess,  Miss  Pinney,  will  come  in  town  this  morn 
ing  to  see  me.  Miss  Pinney  spoke  to  me  just  as  I 
was  leaving  the  house,  and  I  understood  her  to  say 

— I'm  not  just  sure  I  caught  her  meaning (His 

manner  is  the  least  bit  confused;  MRS.  MARTYN 
looks  surprised.  He  continues)  She  spoke  in  a  low 
voice,  for  some  reason  .  .  . 

MRS.  MARTYN.    Your  daughter  did? 

WHEELER.  (Very  slightly  uncomfortable)  No, 
my  daughter's  governess — uh — Miss  Pinney.  I  un 
derstood  her  to  say  that  she  wanted  to  see  me  in 
private.  ...  I  think  she  meant  she  wanted  to  talk 
with  me  about  my  daughter. 

MRS.  MARTYN.    I  understand. 

WHEELER.  I  think  she  implied  that  she  and  my 
daughter  might  come  in  town  and  turn  up  here  at 
the  office  .  .  .  (Leaves  this  tentative.) 

MRS.  MARTYN.    I'll  look  out  for  them. 

WHEELER.    Thanks.   (Exits  L.) 

(MRS.  MARTYN  sits  looking  thoughtfully  after  him, 
for  a  moment  or  two,  then  rises  and  moves 


CLARENCE  9 

toward  the  door  up  L.  Just  before  she  reaches 
it,  it  is  rather  impetuously  thrown  open  and 
MRS.  WHEELER  enters  in  a  state  of  controlled 
excitement.  She  is  a  pretty  young  woman, 
WHEELER'S  second  wife  .  .  .  wearing  a  fash 
ionable  dark  "street  dress"  and  hat,  with  a  veil 
and  fur  coat.  MRS.  MARTYN  utters  an  excla 
mation  of  surprise  at  sight  of  her.)  - 

MRS.  MARTYN.  Why,  Mrs.  Wheeler (Moves 

as  if  to  go  to  door  L.) 

MRS.  WHEELER.  (At  door  cv  checking  her  quick 
ly)  Good  morning,  Mrs.  Martyn.  Don't  disturb 
my  husband,  please.  How  long-  has  he  been  here  ? 

MRS.  MARTYN.    He  just  came. 

MRS.  WHEELER.    Has  Bobby  been  here? 

MRS.  MARTYN.  (Puzzled)  No.  I  thought  he 
was  away  at  school. 

MRS.  WHEELER.  (With  a  slight  grimness)  He's 
been  home  for  several  days,  and  he's  not  going  back 
— at  least  not  to  that  school. 

MRS.  MARTYN.     Mr.  Wheeler  hasn't  mentioned 


MRS.  WHEELER.  (With  a  strained  smile)  Mr. 
Wheeler  didn't  mention  that  he  was  expecting  any 
of  us  here  this  morning? 

MRS.  MARTYN.  I'm  sure  your  coming  in  town  so 
soon  after  he  did  will  be  a  surprise  to  him,  Mrs. 
Wheeler.  Won't  you  let  me  ... 

MRS.  WHEELER.  (Quickly)  No.  Not  now.  I 
really  don't  want  to  disturb  him,  especially  as  he's 
probably  just  got  to  concentrating  on  his  work. 
(Turning  to  door  up  c.)  I'm  going  to  run  along 
and  do  some  things  I  came  in  town  for.  (Turning 
with  her  hand  on  the  knob  of  the  door  up  c.  and 
speaking  with  an  anxiety  she  seeks  to  veil)  I  don't 
suppose  he's  expecting  any  of  the  rest  of  the  family? 
(Pauses  an  instant.  MRS.  MARTYN  follows  MRS. 


T0  CLARENCE 

WHEELER  up  c.)  Not  my  daughter— or— her  gov 
erness — Miss  Pinney? 

MRS.  MARTYN.  (Beginning  impulsively)  Why 

(Checks  herself,  then  moves  toward  R.)  Won't 

you  let  me  ask  him,  Mrs.  Wheeler?  I'm  sure  he'd 
want  to  ... 

MRS.  WHEELER.  (Quickly)  Oh,  please  don't 

(Comes  down.)  It's  one  of  the  things  I  pride  my 
self  on  in  being  the  wife  of  an  important  man;  I 
don't  interfere  with  his  work !  ( Goes  up)  Please 
don't  mention  my  ...  my  dropping  in.  I  just 
thought  maybe  I'd  find  Bobby  here.  (Nods,  then 
exits  c.  A  moment  later,  the  door  L.  opens  and 
WHEELER  appears  there,  his  expression  rather  dis 
turbed.) 

MRS.  MARTYN.  Very  well,  Mrs.  Wheeler.  (Closes 
door.) 

WHEELER.     Was  that  my  wife  here? 

MRS.  MARTYN.    Yes ;  she  .  .  . 

WHEELER.    I  thought  I  heard  her  voice. 

MRS.  M.  She  wouldn't  let  me  disturb  you.  She 
wanted  to  know  if  your  son  had  been  here. 

WHEELER.  (Reflectively)  So!  Ask  Mr.  Lind- 
sey  to  telephone.  I  shall  not  be  able  to  attend  the 
luncheon  party  for  the  Secretary  of  the  Interior. 

MRS.  M.    Very  well. 

(WHEELER  retires,  closing  the  door  L.  MRS.  MAR 
TYN  turns  toward  door  up  c.,  when  it  is  again 
somewhat  impetuously  thrown  open  and  another 
member  of  the  WHEELER  family  appears,  also 
under  the  influence  of  excitement.  He  is  hov 
ering  on  the  elder  side  of  sixteen;  his  hair  is  to 
the  mode  of  New  York,  according  to  the  inter 
pretation  of  his  years,  and  so  is  his  costume, 
which  includes  an  overcoat.  He  also  wears  a 
pair  of  pale  spats t  too  large  for  his  shoes — he  is 


CLARENCE  n 

'Strongly  conscious  of  them  at  times,  and  also 
of  a  large  hook-handled  cane,  too  long  for  him. 
He  removes  his  hat  at  sight  of  MRS.  MARTYN. 
At  all  times  he  is  deathly  serious;  and  speaks 
quickly;  when  he  doesn't  stammer..  This  is 
BOBBY.) 

BOBBY.  (Hastily  as  he  enters)  Howd'y'do.  Lis 
ten.  Look,  Mrs.  Martyn,  have  any  the  fam'ly  been 
here  yet? 

MRS.  MARTYN.    Is  it  Bobby  ?    Bobby  Wheeler  ? 

BOBBY.      (Coming   down)     Yes'm,   I'm   Robert. 

BOBBY.    Didn't  you  know  me? 

MRS.  M.  You  grow  so  fast!  The  last  time  I  saw 
you  you'd  just  got  your  first  long  trousers. 

BOBBY.  Well,  I  do  grow  a  bit ;  but  my  first  long 
trousers  were  practically  a  life-time  ago. 

MRS.  M.     Yes.    A  couple  of  years  at  least! 

BOBBY.  Listen !  I'm  glad  you're  still  here,  Mrs. 
Martyn,  after  all  these  years. 

MRS.  M.  Oh,  yes ;  I  have  been  here  practically  a 
life-time.  By  the  way,  your  mother  was  just  here. 
Didn't  you  meet  her  as  she  went  out? 

BOBBY.  (Hastily)  No,  I  didn't.  I  guess  she 
came  in  her  limousine.  I  came  in  on  the  ten- 
eleven.  They  were  comin*  in  the  tourin'-car.  Lis 
ten.  What  /  want  to  find  out ;  have  they  been  here 
yet? 

MRS.  M.    Who? 

BOBBY.  Why,  my  sister  Cora  and (Sud 
denly  gulps)  .  .  .  look!  I  mean  my  sister  Cora 
and  .  .  .  (Gulps  again)  .  .  .  and  Violent.  I  don't 
mean  Violent  .  .  .  (Hurrying  on  in  helpless  con 
fusion,  but  with  abysmal  gravity)  Listen !  I  mean 
her  and  Cora.  Look !  I  mean  Cora  and  Miss  Pin- 
ney.  Miss  Pinney.  Cora's  governess,  Miss  Pinney  „ 
Pinney. 


12  CLARENCE 

MRS.  M.  (Shaking  her  head  wondering)  No. 
they  haven't  been  here. 

BOBBY.  Well,  they'll  be  here  pretty  soon  then.  I 
don't  want  my  father  to  know  I'm  here  if  it's  con 
venient.  (Crosses  to  R.  Goes  to  the  fireplace.  MRS. 
M.  sits  up  R.)  We  haven't  got  along  too  well  lately 
and  besides  I  took  his  spats.  Look,  do  you  suppose 
he'll  care  ?  He's  never  had  'em  on ;  I  don't  think  he 
likes  to  wear  'em.  It's  right,  isn't  it?  I  mean  you 
don't  haf  to  be  very  old  to  wear  spats,  do  you? 

MRS.  M.     (Gravely)     Oh,  I  don't  think  so. 

BOBBY.  (With  added  earnestness)  Look;  they 
haven't  gone  out  in  New  York,  have  they?  I  been 
away  at  school  for  practick'ly  a  lifetime;  and  I 
haven't  had  a  good  chance  yet  to  see  what  they're 
wearing. 

MRS.  M.  I  didn't  know  you  were  interested  in 
"what  they're  wearing."  The  last  time  I  saw 
you  .  .  . 

BOBBY.  Well,  I  said  that  was  about  a  lifetime 
ago !  Look ;  I  used  to  go  around  like  a  scarecrow, 
but  you  can't  do  that  all  the  time  because,  look ;  why, 
how  do  you  look  if  you  do?  Do  you  think  it's  right 
to  carry  a  stick  over  your  arm  like  this  ?  (Hooks  it 
on  his  arm)  With  shammy  gloves?  Or  do  you 
think  you  ought  to  kind  of  lean  on  it? 

MRS.  M.     (Gravely)    Oh,  I'd  lean  on  it. 

BOBBY.  (Nervously)  Look ;  I  think  a  single  eye 
glass  may  be  all  right,  but  look,  I  think  it's  kind  of 
silly  to  wear  one,  don't  you  ? 

MRS.  M.    I  suppose  it  all  depends. 

BOBBY.  (Fumbling  nervously  in  his  waistcoat) 
Look ;  I  guess  it  wouldn't  be  any  harm  to  own  one, 
would  it?  Another  thing  I  was  goin'  to  ask  some 
body,  well,  f'r  instance,  s'pose  I  found  a  lens  that 
dropped  out  of  a  pair  of  somebody's  spectacles,  lis 
ten:  Do  you  think  it  would  damage  your  eyes  any 
if  you  had  a  hole  put  in  it  for  a  string  and  kind  of 


CLARENCE  13 

practiced  with  it  in  your  own  room  ?    What  I  mean ; 
look,  if  you  don't  wear  it  all  the  time  it  wouldn't 
damage  your  eyes  any,  would  it  ?    I  guess  it  wouldn't         . 
look  too  well  to  have  it  on  when — well,  look,  what         \ 
I  mean  .  .  .  — \ 

(There  is  a  tapping  upon  the  door  c.,  BOBBY  goes/4^ 
adjusting  attire,  then  adjusts  attire  generally  in 
some  agitation.  Two  pretty  girls  are  revealed 
in  the  doorway.  The  elder,  VIOLET — Miss  PIN- 
NEY — the  governess,  is  well  dressed,  in  dark 
winter  clothes,  a  hat,  wrap,  and  veil;  she  is  about 
twenty-two  or  twenty-three.  The  younger, 
CORA,  is  a  piquant  little  beauty,  a  year  one  side 
or  the  other  of  her  brother's  age;  she  is  gaily 
in  the  fashion,  being  fond  of  color,  and  is 
equipped  to  have  driven  to  town  in  an  open  car. 
She  speaks  cheerfully,  as  soon  as  the  door  is 
opened.) 

CORA.  Hello,  Mrs.  Martyn!  Oh,  Violet,  look! 
There's  Bobby!  (They  come  in.) 

VIOLET.  (Coming  down  to  MRS.  MARTYN.  Seri 
ously,  as  they  enter)  Mrs.  Martyn,  did  Mr.  Wheel 
er  say  .  .  . 

MRS.  M.  (Going  R.)  Yes.  He's  expecting  you,  I 
think.  (Exits  R.  behind  table.) 

BOBBY.     (Nervous)    Violet  .  .  .     (Gulps.) 

CORA.  (Turning.  Crossly)  What  do  you  mean 
calling  Miss  Pinney  "Violet"?  You've  only  known 
her  these  four  days  since  you  got  fired  from  this  last 
school,  and  certainly  .  .  . 

BOBBY.  (Interrupting  sternly)  You  show  a  little 
delicacy,  please!  (Crosses  to  VIOLET.  With  emo 
tion  to  VIOLET,  who  stands  looking  at  the  door  L. 
in  serious  expectancy,  biting  her  lip)  Vio — Violent 
.  .  .  Violet  ...  I  only  ask  you  to  show  me  at 
least  this  much  consideration  that  you  would  cer 
tainly  observe  to  a  mere — dog ! 


i4  CLARENCE 

VIOLET.  (Turning  quickly)  I'm  not  going  to 
speak  to  your  father  about  you  at  all,  Mr. 

Wheeler. 

CORA.  "Mister1r~WheelerT  ~Mtss  Pinney,  do  call 
the  child  "Bobby"! 

BOBBY.  (Sternly  to  her)  Haven't  you  got  any 
sense  at  all?  (Goes  up  c.  MRS.  MARTYN  enters 
quickly  L.) 

MRS.  M.  He  will  see  you  and  Cora  now,  Miss 
Pinney. 

VIOLET.  I  wanted  to  see  him  alone  first.  (Goes 
over  to  MRS.  M.) 

MRS.  M.     (Nodding)    That's  all  right,  I'm  sure. 

VIOLET.  Thank  you.  (Exits  L.  MRS.  MARTYN 
at  the  same  time  exits  up  c.  CORA  goes  across  to 
the  door  L.  and  listens.) 

BOBBY.  (Sitting  L.C.,  bitterly)  That's  a  woman's 
honor,  that  is !  Eavesdropping ! 

CORA.  (Coming  away  from  the  door,  crosses  to 
c.)  Door's  too  thick  to  hear,  anyhow.  That's  papa's 
stick.  The  idea  of  a  child  of  your  age — oh !  (Shout 
ing)  Look!  (Pointing)  Those  are  papa's  spats, 
too !  Well,  aren't  you  ashamed  of  yourself ! 

BOBBY.  (Haughtily)  You  tend  to  your  own  petty 
affairs. 

CORA.  (Glancing  ruefully  R.j  Golly!  I  wish 
they  were  petty !  She's  come  to  tell  papa  on  me ! 

BOBBY.     What  about? 

CORA.  (Coldly)  You  'tend  to  your  own  petty 
affairs. 

BOBBY.    Whyn't  she  discipline  you  herself  ? 

CORA.  She  thinks  I'm  getting  so  dissolute  some 
thing  in  the  father-line  has  to  be  done.  She'll  get 
into  a  scrape,  all  right. 

BOBBY.    (Incredulous)    How  will  she? 

CORA.  Mama'll  have  a  fit  if  she  finds  out  about 
her  coming  here  to  papa's  office. 

BOBBY.    Why  will  she? 


CLARENCE  15 

CORA.  (Cryptic,  pursing  her  lips)  School  boys 
needn't  ask  too  many  questions. 

BOBBY.     (Sharply)    I'm  not  a  school  boy! 

CORA.  (Earnestly.  On  table)  No;  that's  so! 
/Bobby,  what  did  they  fire  you  for?  Papa  wouldn't 
tell  me. 

BOBBY.  (Crosses  to  CORA  at  c.,  loudly)  I  want 
to  know  why  will  Miss  Pinney  get  in  a  scrr.pe. 

CORA.  (Lightly)  Oh — mama  thinks  Miss  Pin- 
ney's  too  young  and  pretty  to  be  a  governess,  any 
how! 

BOBBY.  (Growling,  not  comprehending)  What 
you  talkin'  about? 

CORA.  Of  course  I'm  not  goin'  to  tell  mama  we 
made  this  secret  excursion  to  tell  on  me  and  discuss 
how  my  character's  to  be  saved  .  .  .  but  when  she 
finds  out  .  .  .  whoopee! 

BOBBY.  Why  can't  you  even  talk  so  a  man  can 
understand  ? 

CORA.    A  "man"? 

BOBBY.  (Sternly)  Never  mind!  (Anxiously, 
comes  forward)  Are  you  sure  it's  you  and  not  me, 
they're  talkin'  about  ? 

CORA.  ( Not  sympathetically)  Why,  you  aren't 
in  any  new  trouble,  are  you  ?  Not  in  just  these  few 
days  since  you  got  sent  home? 

BOBBY.  (Loftily,  severely)  Never  mind,  I  tell 
you. 

CORA.  (Goes  to  BOBBY  at  c.  Curiously)  Yester 
day  I  heard  you  saying  something  to  Miss  Pinney 
.about  Delia,  that  Irish  housemaid  at  our  house. 

BOBBY.  (Breathing  wildly)  Look  here!  Were 
you  listening  at  the  lib'ary  keyhole  ? 

CORA.  No  .  .  at  the  sun-room  window.  What 
were  you  telling  Miss  Pinney  about  Delia?  I  only 
heard  you  say  something  that  sounded  just  horrible. 

BOBBY.    (Fiercely)    What  was  it? 

CORA.  I  heard  you  say  something  about  this  house- 


16  CLARENCE 

maid,  Delia,  and  then  you  said  "a  mere  passing 
fancy  isn't  the  love  of  a  lifetime,"  and  then  mama 
called  me.  What  on  earth  did  that  have  to  do  with 
Delia?  Is  she  the  love  of  your  lifetime? 

BOBBY.  (Bitterly)  If  I  had  a  daughter  like  you. 
do  you  know  what  I'd  do  with  her  ? 

CORA.  (Gaily)  Feed  her  on  sugar  and  spice? 
(BOBBY  turns  and  goes  on  to  settle.  Moving  in  a 
half  dancing  mockery)  What  are  little  girls  made 
of?  Sugar  and  spice!  What  are  little  boys  made 
of?  Rats  and  snails!  And  puppy-do'gs'  tails! 
(Curtsies  and  pirouettes,  as  he  flings  himself  down 
on  the  settle  by  the  fireplace,  desperate  with  exas 
peration.  She  hums  dance-music.) 

BOBBY.  (With  distended  nostrils)  You  tend  to 
your  own  petty  affairs,  I  tell  you !  ( The  opening  of 
the  door  c.  by  MRS.  MARTYN  interrupts  CORA'S  con 
tinued  evolutions  and  humming.  MRS.  M.  doesn't 
quite  close  the  door  behind  herf  but  stands  tentatively 
prepared  to  open  it  again.) 

MRS.  M.  (At  c.)  Do  you  children  mind  if  I  see 
somebody  for  your  father  in  here?  It's  a  soldier 
that's  been  waiting  two  days  to  see  him;  he  seems 
rather  queer;  and  there  are  so  many  people  in  the 
anterooms  it's  hard  to  talk  out  there. 

CORA.  Why,  this  is  your  place  for  seeing  people, 
isn't  it,  Mrs.  Martyn? 

MRS.  M.  (Smiling)  Not  when  Mr.  Wheeler's 
own  family  .  .  . 

CORA.  (Interrupting  earnestly)  Do  go  ahead.  I 
want  to  study  how  you  do  it  so  /  can  be  a  woman 
of  affairs  some  day. 

BOBBY.  (R.  CORA  R.C.  BOBBY,  pessimistic  about 
this)  Oh,  murder! 

(CoRA  goes  to  the  settle  R.,  but  kneels  on  it,  looking 
over  the  back  of  it,  facing  L.  BOBBY  is  on  the 
other  settle,  unseen.) 


CLARENCE  17 

MRS.  M.  (Opening  the  door  and  speaking  to  off 
up  R.)  Step  in  here,  please. 

(THE  SOLDIER  shambles  in  slowly,  his  hat  in  his 
hand.  He  is  very  sallow;  his  hair  is  in  some 
disorder;  he  stoops,  not  only  at  the  shoulders, 
but  from  the  waist,  sagging  forward,  and,  for 
a  time,  to  the  left  side;  then,  for  a  time,  to  the 
right;  his  legs  "give"  slightly  at  the  knees,  and 
he  limps,  somewhat  vaguely.  He  wears  the 
faded  old  shabby  khaki  uniform  of  a  private  of 
the  Quartermaster's  department,  and  this  uni 
form  was  a  bad  misfit  for  him  when  it  was  new. 
A  large  pair  of  spectacles  shield  his  blinking 
eyes;  his  hands  are  brown;  and  altogether  he  is 
an  unimposing  figure.  CORA  watches  him  close 
ly,  as  he  comes  down  c.  and  stands,  turning  the 
rim  of  his  army  hat  in  his  hands  with  an  air  of 
patience.  He  seems  unaware  of  anybody,  and 
continues  so  throughout  the  next  speeches.  This 
is  CLARENCE.  MRS.  MARTYN  goes  to  the  table 
R.  and  sits.) 

MRS.  M.    I  am  Mr.  Wheeler's  secretary  .  .  . 

CORA.  (Interrupting  gravely)  She's  papa's  con 
fidential  secretary.  It's  just  the  same  as  talking  to 
papa. 

MRS.  M.  We  didn't  want  to  keep  you  waiting 
any  longer,  when  there's  no  opportunity  .  .  . 

CORA.  (Interrupting  her  impulsively,  but  not  wn- 
sympathetically)  What  makes  you  sag  so  much  to 
one  side? 

CLARENCE.  (Turning  his  head  to  look  at  her  sol 
emnly)  It's  my  liver. 

CORA.    (Blankly)    Oh!    (Crosses  to  settle.) 

MRS.  M.  (Raising  her  voice  a  little  emphatically, 
to  put  an  end  to  CORA'S  talking)  You  see,  Mr. 
Wheeler  himself  can't  see  everybody;  and  as  you 


i8  CLARENCE 

haven't  even  a  letter  to  him,  wouldn't  it  be  the  sim 
plest  thing  for  you  to  state  your  business  to  me? 

CLARENCE.  (Hesitating  rather  forlornly)  Wuw 
.  .  .  well  ...  I  haven't  any  business  .  .  .  ex 
actly. 

MRS.  M.    (Dryly)    Well,  your  desires,  then. 

CLARENCE.  (Adding  a  melancholy  doggedness  to 
his  former  manner)  Well — I  thought  I'd  better  see 
him. 

MRS.  M.  (With  a  thought)  Have  you  ever  met 
Mr.  Wheeler? 

CLARENCE.    Not — not  yet. 

MRS.  M.  (Frowning)  Of  course  we  want  to 
show  consideration  to  any  soldier  .  .  .  (As  she 
speaks  she  takes  a  notebook  and  a  fountain  peri  from 
a  drawer  of  the  desk)  What  is  your  name,  please? 

CLARENCE.  Clarence  Smum.  (Bang  drawer  on 
Smum.  He  does  not  actually  say  ''Smum";  this 
word  represents  MRS.  M/s  impression  of  what  she 
hears.  His  voice  disappears  casually,  as  it  were. 
during  the  pronounciation  of  his  surname,  though  he 
pronounces  '"Clarence"  distinctly  enough.) 

CORA.  (Speaking  at  the  same  time  so  that  her 
voice  blurs  his)  I  do  think  .  .  .  Clarence  is  a  poetic 
name !  Some  people  don't,  but  I  think  it  is. 

MRS.  MARTYN.  (A  little  embarrassed)  Clarence 
what,  please? 

(CORA,  after  blurring  CLARENCE'S  reply  by  speaking 
at  the  same  time  as  CLARENCE,  she  continues 
the  thought  of  the  preceding  speech.) 

CORA.  There  used  to  be  Dukes  of  Clarence  in 
history,  you  know,  very  wealthy  people  that  the 
King  drowned  in  a  barrel  of  cider  or  something. 
There  could  hardly  be  a  nicer  name  than  Clarence, 
no  matter  what  people  say.  (CoRA  still  in  the  same 
position)  Were  you  in  the  war?  (Her  voice  is 
eager  and  serious.) 


CLARENCE  19 

CLARENCE.  (Looking  at  her  again)  I  was  in  the 
— army.  (Non-committal.) 

(BOBBY  rises  and  looks  over  the  settle  at  him.) 

BOBBY.  (Rises,  sternly,  in  a  low  voice)  You 
don't  know  him. 

CORA.  (Quickly)  It's  right  to  speak  to  soldiers. 
(Appealing  to  CLARENCE,)  Isn't  it? 

CLARENCE.  (Solemnly)  If  you  .  .  .  don't  mind 
.  .  .  what  they  say  ...  back. 

CORA.    (To  BOBBY )    I  told  you. 

MRS.  MARTYN.    Now,  if  you  please,  Mister  .  .  . 

( She  mumbles  after  this,  covering  her  difficulty  with 
his  last  name,  though  she  frowns  and  glances  at  her 
book  as  if  for  help) 

CLARENCE.  (In  his  former  manner)  Well,  I 
thought  I'd  better  see  him. 

MRS.  MARTYN.  If  you're  looking  for  a  position 
I'm  sorry.  We've  taken  on  more  returned  soldiers, 
really,  than  we  have  places  for.  It  would  only  waste 
your  own  time  .  .  . 

CLARENCE.    Well— I  thought  I'd  better 

MRS.  MARTYN.  (Bothered)  I  know  Mr.  Wheeler 

would  never  decline  to  see  you,  but (Looking  at 

book)  your  first  opportunity,  even  for  a  few  min 
utes,  wouldn't  come  until  about  Wednesday  of  next 
week. 

CORA.  (Going  to  MRS.  MARTYN  at  L.  Impulsive- 
ly)  Oh,  yes,  it  could !  When  Miss  Pinney  gets 
through  telling  about  me  in  there,  I'll  cheerfully  give 
this  soldier  my  time  with  papa ! 

MRS.  M.    (Bothered)    My  dear,  that  wouldn't — 

CORA.  (Quickly.  Crosses  to  R.  of  table)  Why, 
yes,  it  would!  It'd  be  the  best  thing  that  could 
happen  for  everybody  !  (Determinedly)  I  actually 


20  CLARENCE 

insist  on  it,  Mrs.  Martyn.  (To  CLARENCE,)  It's  all 
right.  Why  don't  you  sit  down  ? 

CLARENCE.  (Solemnly)  I  will.  (He  sits  near 
R.C.  With  great  care,  as  if  the  action  might  disjoint 
some  internal  connection,  MRS.  M.  shuts  drawer.) 

CORA.  Do  you  have  to  take  pretty  good  care  of 
yourself  like  that? 

CLARENCE.    (Nodding  slightly)    I  do. 


r 


READY  Buzzer. 


CORA.  (With  great  interest)  Do  you  wear  spec 
tacles  because  your  eyes  got  gassed  ? 

CLARENCE.  (Slowly)  No.  They  say  the  liver 
affects  the  eyes  very  much. 

BUZZER. 

(At  this  MRS.  MARTYN  gives  up.  She  throws  the 
book  back  in  the  drawer  and  closes  the  latter 
sharply.  Then,  in  response  to  a  buzzer  off,  she 
rises  and  goes  out  decisively  c.) 

(CORA  is  profoundly  interested  in  CLARENCE'S  dis 
closures.  She  walks  in  a  semi-circle  around  him 
to  up  RV  looking  at  him  all  the  time,  her  ex 
pression  concentrated  and  serious;  and  still 
looking  at  him,  she  drags  MRS.  MARTYN'S  chair 
from  the  table  to  near  him,  and  seats  herself. 
BOBBY,  meanwhile,  kneels  on  the  settle  to  face 
CLARENCE.,) 

CORA.    How  did  it  feel  when  you  first  enlisted  ? 

CLARENCE.  It  felt  all  right.  There  was  nothing 
the  matter  with  it  then. 

CORA.  (Hastily)  I  don't  mean  your  liver.  I 
mean  how  did  you  feel  when  you  first  enlisted  ? 

CLARENCE.    I  was  drafted. 

CORA.    Were  you  just  a  private  all  the  time? 


CLARENCE  21 

CLARENCE.    Yes,  fell  the  time  after  I  was  'drafted, 
I  was. 

BOBBY.    I  hope  there'll  be  another  war  in  about  a 
couple  o'  years  or  so. 

CLARENCE.    (Simply)    You  want  another  war? 

BOBBY.    You  bet !    (He  is  severe.) 

CLARENCE.    So  you  could  be  in  it  ? 

BOBBY.    Yes,  sir! 

CLARENCE.  (Gravely)  I  wish  you'd  been  in  this 
one.  What  would  you  do  ? 

BOBBY.    Flying  Corps.    That's  the  life! 

CORA.  (Eagerly  to  CLARENCE )  What  did  you 
do  in  the  war  ? 

CLARENCE.  (  With  a  faint  note  of  pathos)  I  drove 
a  mule. 

CORA.  (Astounded)  What  in  the  world  did  you 
do  that  for? 

CLARENCE.     Somebody  had  to. 

CORA.    But  what  for? 

CLARENCE.  They  won't  go  where  you  want  'em 
to  unless  you  drive  'em. 

BOBBY.  Did  you  meet  Major  Brooks-Carmel  in 
France?  He's  a  cousin  of  ours. 

CLARENCE.    No.    I  didn't  meet  him. 

CORA.    Did  you  meet  Lieutenant  Whitcomb? 

CLARENCE.    What  was  his  first  name? 

CORA.  Hobart.  Lieutenant  Sir  Hobart  Whit- 
comb  really.  He  was  English — in  the  Royal  Flying 
Corps. 

CLARENCE.     No.    I  didn't  meet  him. 

BOBBY.  Dfd-jrotTmeet  Captain  Arthur  McKin- 
ley? 

"CLARENCE.  ^Won'tJ&VifeJ  did. 
CORA.  (Seriously  hoping  ~to  establish  a  point  of 
social  contact)  .Xln.ltligli.  Commander  Larcher? 
(CLARENCE  shakes  his  heacTf"  Or  Captain  T.  P. 
Schuyler  of  Englewood?  (He  shakes  his  head) 
Let's  see  ...  (Discou*a&edr-sbe~~cQ'nsiders)  Well, 


22  CLARENCE 

I  don't  know  him  myself,  but  did  you  meet  General 
Pershing  ? 

CLARENCE.  (Shaking  his  head,  seriously)  Gen 
eral  Pershing  ?  No. 

CORA.    Where  do  you  live  when  you're  home  ? 

CLARENCE.    Well,  nowhere  precisely. 

BOBBY.    Where  was  your  home  before  the  war  ? 

CLARENCE.    It  was  wherever  I  was  boarding. 

CORA.  How  interesting !  Where  did  your  mother 
and  father  bring  you  up  ? 

CLARENCE.  (Simply)  I  was  brought  up  by  some 
cannibals. 

CORA.  Oh,  my  goodness !  When  you  were 
little? 

CLARENCE.  Yes.  That  is,  my  nurse  was  a  can 
nibal. 

BOBBY.     My  gosh! 

CORA.  (Eagerly)  Didn't  your  nurse  ever  try  to 
eat  you? 

CLARENCE.  (As  with  scrupulous  exactness)  No 
.  .  .  not  me. 

CORA.  But  didn't  they  ever  try  to  eat  your 
fam'lyf 

CLARENCE.    No — not  my  family. 

CORA.     Well,  who  did 

BOBBY.  (Annoyed,  to  CORA)  You  don't  haf  to 
ask  so  many  personal  questions,  do  you  ? 

CORA.  (Earnestly  and  confidently  to  CLARENCE,) 
It's  right  to  be  personal  to  soldiers,  isn't  it — so  as  to 
look  after  their  welfare? 

CLARENCE.     (Mildly)    It's  very  public-spirited. 

CORA.  (Impulsively)  I  think  our  American  uni 
form  is  so  becoming,  don't  you  ? 

CLARENCE.  (Faintly,  plaintive)  Do  you  mean 
you  think  I'd  look  worse  in  other  clothes  ? 

CORA.  (Untouched)  No,  but  I  would  like  to 
know  why  you  drove  a  mule. 

CLARENCE.    I  didn't  select  that  branch  of  the  ser- 


CLARENCE  23 

vice    myself.      (A    faint    emphasis    on    "select") 

CORA.    You  mean  somebody  told  you  to? 

CLARENCE.  Yes;  I  thought  it  was  better  to  do 
-what  they  said. 

CORA.  (Earnestly  curious)  Did  you  have  to 
learn  to  swear  at  the  mules  to  make  them  obey  ? 

CLARENCE.     (Thoughtfully)     No.     No,  I  didn't. 

CORA.  (Brightly  eager,  rises  and  goes  over  to  c.) 
Were  you  ever  wounded  ? 

CLARENCE.     (Grimly)    Yes,  I  was. 

CORA.  (Excitedly  to  BOBBY )  Oh,  he  was  wound 
ed!  (To  CLARENCE  J  Where  was  it? 

READY  VIOLET. 

CLARENCE.  At  target  practice !  (His  voice  breaks 
to  falsetto  on  the  word  "target,"  so  extreme  is  his 
resentment  of  this  shaft  of  destiny.) 

CORA.    (Large-eyed)    Was  it  artillery? 

BOBBY.  (In  despair  of  her  intelligence)  Oh,  my ! 
Artillery !  (Throws  up  his  hands  and  turns  away. 
CLARENCE  looks  at  him  mildly,  then  at  CORA) 

CLARENCE.     (Grimly)    It  was.     It  was  artillery./ 

'*^J->' 

READ  Y  VIOLET! 

CORA.  (Moving  toward  him  in  her  excitement) 
Oh,  that  must  have  hurt. 

f  BOBBY  again  manifests  his  opinion  of  her  by  a  repe 
tition  of  his  gesture.  At  the  same  time,  the 
door  L.  opens  and  VIOLET,  gravely  concerned, 
somewhat  severe,  stands  there.) 

VIOLET.  Cora.  (CLARENCE  rises  carefully.) 
Your  father  will  speak  to  you  now,  Cora. 

CORA.  (Rising  gloomily)  Oh,  murder !  (To 
CLARENCE )  Here's  where  /  get  wounded!  (She 
goes  out  L,.) 


24  CLARENCE 

(BOBBY  crosses  to  R.C.    VIOLET  follows  CORA,  clos 
ing  the  door.    CLARENCE  again  carefully  sits.) 

BOBBY.    (Quickly)    See  here 

( BOBBY  approaches  CLARENCE,  bringing  forth  a  box 
of  small,  gold-tipped  cigarettes.) 

BOBBY.  (Spaciously,  referring  to  his  sister)  See 
here.  (Puts  a  cigarette,  unlighted,  in  his  own  mouth, 
and  brings  forth  a  patent  lighter  from  a  pocket,  at 
the  same  time  offering,  with  his  free  hand,  the  box 
to  CLARENCE )  Have  a  coffin-nail?  (He  likes  this 
reckless  word.) 

(CLARENCE  bends  his  head  over  the  box,  peering  at 
the  cigarettes  through  his  spectacles.) 

CLARENCE.    No,  no,  thanks. 

BOBBY.    (Hopefully)    Oh,  you  better ! 

CLARENCE.    I  believe  not. 

BOBBY.    (Disappointed)    Don't  you  smoke? 

CLARENCE.  I  believe  I  won't  here.  You  see,  I 
want  to  make  a  good  impression  on  your  father. 

BOBBY.  (Glancing  RV  disappointed)  We'll — I 
guess  I'll  haf  to  give  up  the  idea.  (Puts  up  his 
materials  and  sits  gloomily.)  The  family  don't  know 
I  smoke  yet,  and  if  I  couldn't  lay  the  smell  to  some 
body  else  father  might  make  trouble. 

CLARENCE.  (Looking  at  him  without  gratitude) 
I  see. 

BOBBY.  (Producing  a  pair  of  dice)  Ever  roll 
the  bones  ?  (Rolls  them  at  his  feet) 

CLARENCE.    I  doubt  if  we'd  better. 

BOBBY.  (Puzzled,  as  he  picks  up  the  dice)  Don't 
you  shoot  'em?  I  thought  everybody  in  the  army — 

CLARENCE.  Well,  for  one  thing,  I  haven't  any 
money. 


CLARENCE  25 

BOBBY.    Blow  in  all  your  pay  ? 

CLARENCE.  No;  not  any.  They're  still  saving 
mine  for  me  in  Washington. 

BOBBY.  (Innocently)  Why,  I  didn't  know  they 
did  that.  Do  they  keep  it  for  you  ? 

CLARENCE.  Yes,  they  usually  keep  it  for  you — 
Until  you  don't  need  it. 

BOBBY.  (Gravely  important)  I'll  tell  you  some- 
p'n,  if  you'll  keep  it  to  yourself.  (Showing  the  dice.) 
This  is  what  I  got  fired  for  from  my  last  school, 
too.  I've  been  fired  from  three  schools  for  it. 

CLARENCE.  '(Frowning)  Why,  that's  just  au 
tocracy  ! 

BOBBY.  (Pleased,  but  gloomy)  I  can't  seem  to 
quit  it.  Once  I  get  a  habit  fastened  on  me  I  can't 
seem  to  give  it  up.  Listen :  you  been  in  the  army. 
I'd  like  to  ask  your  advice  about  somep'n.  (Gets  up 
thoughtfully,  facing  CLARENCE,) 

CLARENCE.  (Gravely)  I  hope  you've  come  to 
the  right  man. 

BOBBY.  Listen ;  I'd  like  to  ask  you  because,  look, 
you  been  in  the  army  and  I  can  tell  by  your  conver 
sation  you  been  around  a  good  deal.  (Sits)  Listen, 
do  you  think  when  a  man's  taken  advantage  of  a 
woman's  inexperience  and  kissed  her,  he's  bound  to 
go  ahead  and  marry  her  even  if  he's  in  love  with 
another  woman? 

CLARENCE.     (Gravely)     Did  you  kiss  somebody? 

BOBBY.    Yes.    I  wouldn't  again ;  not  her,  I  mean. 

CLARENCE.    Was  it  against  her  will? 

BOBBY.  She  claims  so.  (No  especial  emphasis  on 
claims) 

CLARENCE.  Does  she  claim  you  ought  to  marry 
her? 

BOBBY.  She  says  if  I  don't,  she'll  tell  the  whole 
family,  because,  look,  the  person  that  was  engaged 
to  her  saw  this  thing  happen,  and  he  got  mad  at  her, 
and  she  says  I  either  got  to  pay  her  damages  or  run 


26  CLARENCE 

off  and  marry  her.  Well,  I  haven't  any  money  for 
damages.  I  wouldn't  tell  this  to  everybody. 

CLARENCE.  No ;  I  wouldn't,  either.  Who  did  you 
tell? 

BOBBY.  Well,  I  told  Cora's  governess,  Miss  Pin 
ney — that  just  came  in  here  for  her.  (Gestures  to 
door  L.) 

CLARENCE.     What  did  you  tell  Miss  Pinney  for? 

BOBBY.  Well,  I  told  her  her  because,  listen,  this 
other  affair,  it  was  just  a  passing  fancy,  but,  look. 
I  think  when  something  higher  and  more  spiritual 
comes  into  your  life,  why,  look,  you're  just  hardly 
responsible  for  what  you  do,  don't  you? 

CLARENCE.  You  mean  when  the  higher  love 
comes,  then  you  get  really  wild  ? 

BOBBY.  (Earnestly  emphatic)  That's  it.  You 
see  when  this  first  thing  happened  I'd  hardly  even 
noticed  what  Miss  Pinney  looked  like. 

CLARENCE.  Miss  Pinney  is  the  spiritual ? 

(Leaves  it  unfinished,  and  BOBBY  nods  solemnly) 

And  this  other  person  that  has  a  claim  on  you 

(BOBBY  shudders.) 

BOBBY.  It's  horrible!  Look,  you  been  in  the 
army  and  everything,  what  would  you  dp  about  it? 

CLARENCE.    I'd  go  away  to  school  again. 

BOBBY.  Yes,  but  look,  when  you've  been  fired 
from  three  prominent  schools,  you  get  kind  of  a 
reputation,  and,  listen,  it's  kind  of  hard  to  get  you 
in.  Father's  already  had  quite  a  rebuff  from  one 
Principal  and  he  says  himself  I'm  about  as  big  a 
responsibility  for  him  as  anyone  in  the  family. 

CLARENCE.  (Glancing  L.  uncomfortably)  He 
does? 

BOBBY.  Oh,  yes,  and  besides,  well,  look,  I  don't 
want  to  go  'way  just  when  this  other  thing's  hap 
pened  to  me.  It's  the  biggest  thing  in  my  life. 

CLARENCE.  You  want  to  stay  near  Miss  Pinney 
(assenting). 


CLARENCE  27 

BOBBY.    (Simply)    Sure.    Wouldn't  you? 
CLARENCE.     (Glancing  at  door  L.J     Yes,  I  think 
I  should.    (Then  a  smile.) 

BOBBY.    Because,  listen,  if  I  don't,  why,  look 

(He  is  interrupted  by  the  entry  of  CORA,  L.  She 
enters  quickly  and  decisively,  being  in  a  state  of 
controlled  fury.  She  is  almost  oblivious  of 
CLARENCE  and  BOBBY,  as  she  strides  to  Ihe  chair 
she  has  formerly  occupied  and  flings  herself 
down  in  it.  Again  CLARENCE  rises  painfully 
and  sits.) 

CORA.  (As  she  enters  and  not  pausing  when  she 
sits)  They  can  go  to  thunder!  If  two  people  ever 
made  me  tired,  it's  papa  and  Miss  Pinney!  Puri 
tans! 

BOBBY.  (Superior)  Oh,  they  got  through  with 
you  pretty  quick,  considerin'  what  you  prob'ly  been 
doin'. 

CORA.  (Sharply)  They're  not  through  with  me. 
They're  "consultin' " ;  inventin'  the  "discipline" 
they'll  haf  to  put  me  through !  Narrow-minded 

BOBBY.  (Quickly,  shrewdly,  and  severely  inter 
rupting)  I  b'lieve  you  been  up  to  somep'n  again 
with  that  ole  grass-widower! 

CORA.     (Sharply)    He's  not  old! 

BOBBY.  (Triumphant  and  severe)  That's  it !  It's 
that  ole  grass , 

CORA.  (Interrupting  fiercely)  Hush  up !  (Rap- 
Idly)  He's  one  of  the  most  perfect  characters  that 
ever  came  into  my  life.  (To  CLARENCE,  with  rapid 
and  indignant  and  pathetic  appeal)  I  leave  it  tc 
you  if  grass-widowers  aren't  just  as  perfect  as  the 
other  kind  of  widowers. 

CLARENCE.    (Heartily)    Yes,  just  about. 

CORA.  (Oblivious  of  his  comment,  going  on  as 
before)  I  did  go  out  motoring  with  him  and  I  did 


28  CLARENCE 

dine  at  his  country  club  with  him,  and  danced  there 
till  twelve  o'clock — and  then  Miss  Pinney  came  and 
got  me,  but  I  leave  it  to  you :  is  there  any  harm  in 
that? 

BOBBY.  (Immediately)  Well,  of  all  the  vile  con 
fessions 

CORA.  You  hush  up !  Of  course  I  said  I  was  go 
ing  to  spend  the  evening  with  a  girl-friend,  but  Miss 
Pinney v  found  out — and  what  I  want  to  know  .  .  . 
If  you  were  my  father  .  .  .  (To  CLARENCE,)  Would 
you  go  into  thirty-five  fits  over  a  thing  like  that  ? 

CLARENCE.    No.    Not  that  many. 

CORA.  Why,  you  ought  to  see  those  two  in  there : 
you'd  think  they  were  Judges  of  the  Ex-treme  Court 
of  the  United  States  in  Washington!  What  I'm 
afraid  of,  they'll  never  let  me  see  him  again!  (Sits, 
sobs  suddenly.) 

BOBBY.  (Sharply)  They  ought  to  drown  you ;  I 
never  heard  such  a  disgusting  story  in  all  my  .  .  . 

CORA.  (Not  noticing  him  except  for  the  two 
words;  it  is  all  poured  out  rapidly  to  CLARENCE,) 
Hush  up!  She  dee-lib'rutly  comes  to  father  with 
this  just  because  mama's  only  our  step-mother  and 
hasn't  got  any  idea  of  discipline — and  you  just  ought 
to  hear  her  in  there,  the  way  she  goes  on  about  being 
responsible  for  the  shaping  of  my  character  because 
she's  my  governess!  She'll  get  papa  so  prejudiced 
against  me  .  .  .  (Voice  rising  to  end.) 

BOBBY.  (Interrupting)  At  that,  I  bet  she  hasn't 
told  him  half  she  knows  about  you !  (To  CLARENCE 
appealingly)  Don't  some  women  make  you  sick 
sometimes?  (With  a  gesture  at  CORA.J 

CLARENCE.  No ;  to  me  she  seems  attractive.  You 
See,  she  isn't  my  sister. 

CORA.  (Quickly,  earnestly)  Listen ;  you've  been 
in  the  army  and  all  that.  What  would  you  do  if 
you  were  a  girl  and  in  a  fix  like  that  ? 

CLARENCE.    (Shaking  his  head,  sincerely)    I  don't 


CLARENCE  29 

know  what  I'd  do  if  I  were  a  girl  in  a  fix  like  that  ; 
I  don't  even  know  what  I'd  do  if  I  were  a  girl. 

CORA.  (Appreciatively)  Well,  anyway,  I  think 
you're  awf'ly  nice  and  sympathetic. 

BOBBY.  (Frowning)  Aw,  fluuf ,  leave  it  out !  He 
don't  care  what  you  think! 

CORA.  (Rises.  Straightening  up  to  look  crossly 
at  BOBBYJ  How  do  you  know?  You  don't  know 
him  any  better  than  I  do. 

BOBBY.    I  don't? 

CORA.    You  don't  know  him  as  well. 

BOBBY.    Aw,  blub ! 

CORA.  (To  CLARENCE,  with  earnest,  pathetic 
naivete,  quickly)  I  kept  trying  to  talk  to  papa  about 
you  all  the  time.  I  told  him  again  and  again  there 
was  a  soldier  waiting  to  see  him,  but  they  wouldn't 
let  me  change  the  subject!  I  tried  to  tell  'em  about 
the  cannibals,  and  how  you'd  been  wounded,  and 
about  your  liver,  and  I  did  tell  'em  how  you  could 
drive  mules  without  swearing 

CLARENCE.  That  wasn't  what  I  said.  I  said  I 
didn't  have  to  learn  how  to  swear  at  'em.  But  did 
your  father  believe  you  when  you  said  I  could  do  it 
without  ? 

CORA.  (Plaintive  to  tears)  He  didn^t  say:  he 
switched  the  subject  right  back  to  me.  Never  mind ! 
(Vindictively.)  They'll  be  in  a  fix,  all  right,  if 
mama  hears  about  it ! 

BOBBY.    (Scornfully)    How  will  they  ? 

CORA.  Why,  they  can't  tell  her  they  ignored  her 
in  the  matter  because  she's  merely  an  incompetent 
stepmother,  can  they?  Besides  that,  there's  some- 
p'n  else  about  mama  and  Miss  Pinney  and  papa. 
(Significant  and  ominous.) 

BOBBY.    What? 

CORA.  I  told  you  once  and  you  were  too  dumb  to 
understand.  I'm  not  goin'  to  tell  you  again. 

BOBBY.    Aw,  blub ! 


32  CLARENCE 

^  WHEELER.  Miss  Pinney !  Get  her  in  the  other  of 
fice.  (Pointing  to  CLARENCE,  speaks  frowningly, 
quickly)  Wait,  young  man.  (Pointing  to  the  fire 
place  settle  -L.)  Sit  down,  please.  (Turning  to  fol 
low  CORA  and  Miss  PINNEY  L.)  For  heaven's  sake 
be  quiet ! 

(CORA  is  moving  L.  under  Miss  PINNEY'S  guidance, 
sobbing  "I  will  see  him!  What  if  he  is  a  grass- 
widower?  I  will,  too."  They  go  out  L., 
WHEELER  last.  He  closes  the  door.  CLARENCE 
during  this  has  gone  to  the  settle  by  the  fireside 
and  taken  his  seat  there.) 

BOBBY.  (With  solemn,  slow  vehemence)  If  ever 

I  have  a  child  like  that (He  leaves  this  horrid 

contingency  in  the  air,  leans  on  the  other  settle  and 
looks  at  CLARENCE.,) 

CLARENCE.    Well,  you  may  not. 

BOBBY.  I  guess  father  was  embarrassed  bavin* 
you  hear  all  that  family  scandal  and  wanted  a  chance 
to  ask  you  not  to  tell  it,  before  you  go, 

CLARENCE.    I'm  afraid  that's  all  he  wanted. 

BOBBY.  Look,  do  you  consider  the  army  the  best 
preparation  for  the  after  life? 

CLARENCE.  No;  I  don't  think  it's  particularly 
good  for  that — but  of  course  when  there's  a  war,  the 
after  life  is  what  you're  very  liable  to  have  happen. 

BOBBY.  No ;  what  I  mean  by  the  after  life  is  when 
you  marry  and  enter  business. 

CLARENCE.    I  see  your  point-of-view. 

BOBBY.  (Solemn)  You  know  what  I  told  you — 
about  the  one  that  claims — you  know 

CLARENCE.  Yes.  I  remember.  Her  young  man 
saw  you  kissing  her 

BOBBY.  Well,  I'd  like  to  get  your  advice:  you 
been  in  the  army.  How  would  you  treat  her  if  you 
were  in  my  position? 

CLARENCE.    Do  you  see  her  very  often? 


CLARENCE  33 

BOBBY.     (Gulping)    She's  one  of  our  housem'aids. 

CLARENCE.    (Impressed  with  the  desperate  nature 

of  the  situation)    Then,  I'd  be  very  polite  to  her. 

(Sob  from  CORA  off  L.) 

BOBBY.  (Sighs)  Well — there's  one  satisfaction. 
(Looks  L.J  I  guess  Cora's  getting  the  grand^mazoo- 
mie-zaboo  in  there,  all  right!  (Amused)  I  expect 
What  makes  papa  about  as  sick  as  anything  is  your 
happening  to  hear  so  much  of  the  family  private, 
affairs  this  way.  He's  awful  strong  on  self-reserve 
and  privacy  and  all  such  stuff. 

CLARENCE.    I'm  afraid  he'll  hold  it  against  me. 

BOBBY.  You  can't  tell  what  he'll  do ;  he's  as  pecu 
liar  a  man  as  I  ever  knew. 

(The  door  c.  opens  quickly  and  MRS.  WHEELER 
comes  in;  her  excitement  has  increased;  she 
controls  it,  however,  and  speaks  with  crisp  de 
cisiveness.) 

MRS.  WHEELER.     (As  she  enters)    Bobby 

BOBBY.     Hello,  mama. 

MRS.  WHEELER.  Our  open  car's  waiting  down 
there.  Did  you  come  in  it? 

BOBBY.    No,  I  came  on  the 

MRS.  WHEELER.  (With  slightly  raised  voice)  Did 
Miss  Pinney  come  in  it? 

BOBBY.    Why,  yes,  she — came  in  it. 

MRS.  WHEELER.    Oh,  she  did!    (Comes  down) 

BOBBY.     Sure. 

MRS.  WHEELER.  (Pointing  at  the  door  R.)  Is 
sfae  in  there  with  your  father  now? 

BOBBY.    (Contentedly)    Yes.    She's  in  there, 

MRS.  WHEELER.     (Stung)     Oh! 

BOBBY.     Her  and  Cora. 

MRS.  WHEELER.  (Bitterly)  Oh,  slie  brought 
Cora  along? 


34  CLARENCE 

BOBBY.    (Grimly)    I  should  say  she  did! 

MRS.  WHEELER.  Has  Cora  been  in  there  with 
them  all  the  time?  (She  does  not  emphasise  this 
vulgarly;  she  is  jealous,  but  is,  "technically"  a  lady; 
and  her  emotion,  though  considerable,  is  not  rau 
cous  in  expression.) 

BOBBY.     No,  not  all. 

MRS.  WHEELER.  I  fancy  not!  (Walks  up  and 
down.) 

,     BOBBY.     They  let  her  out  once,  but  they  had  to 
take  her  back. 

MRS.  WHEELER.  (In  a  disgusted,  low  voice) 
What  a  farce ! 

BOBBY.  It  certainly  was!  (Then,  beginning  to 
perceive  something)  What's  the  matter  with  you. 
mama;  you're  kind  of  excited? 

MRS.  WHEELER.  (With  quiet  bitterness)  Oh, 
no;  I'm  not. 

i    BOBBY.     (Diagnosing)     I  s'pose  Cora  makes  you 
perty  mad 

MRS.  WHEELER.  (Speaking  quickly)  No,  she 
doesn't.  I  love  Cora;  I  love  both  of  you,  Bobby. 
It's  only  that  being  a  step-mother's  an  unfortunate 
position.  One  has  to  leave  "discipline"  to  fathers 
and — governesses — which  means  that  fathers  and 
governesses  have  to  consult,  very  frequently ! 
1  BOBBY.  (Genially)  Cora  was  sayin'  somep'n 
about  that  herself.  She  said  :  How  could  they  ever 
tell  you  it  was  no  use  putting  it  up  to  you  about  her. 
but  she  thought  herself  it  was  goin'  to  make  you 
perty  mad. 

MRS.  WHEELER.  (With  increasing  emotion)  So. 
even  Cora  thought  I  had  a  right  to  be  angry,  did 

she  ?    Oh,  Bobby (With  a  sudden  break  in  her 

voice.) 

BOBBY.     Why,  what's  the  matter? 

MRS.  WHEELER.  (Just  barely  keeping  rhe  sobs 
from  becoming  vociferous)  Oh,  Bobby,  don't  any 


CLARENCE  35 

of  you  see  what  I  have  to  suffer?  Don't  you  under 
stand  what  I  have  to  bear  every  day  from  your 
father  and — these  "consultations  for  discipline"? 

He  and  Miss  Pinney (CLARENCE  interrupts 

this  emotional  confidence  with  a  loud,  diplomatic 
cough.  Too  preoccupied  with  her  own  feelings  to 

be  much  startled)  Is  some  one (CLARENCE 

rises.) 

BOBBY.  Papa  told  him  to  wait  there.  (Formally 
I  would  like  you  to  meet  my  friend,  Clarence. 

CLARENCE.  (Bowing  as  well  as  his  liver  will  let 
him)  How  do  you  do  ?  (He  rests  his  hands  on  the 
back  of  the  settle,  looking  at  her.) 

MRS.  WHEELER.  (Touching  her  eyes  with  her 
handkerchief,  nods  meekly)  Have  you  been  in  here 
most  of  the' morning" ? 

BOBBY.  (Reassuringly)  Oh,  he  knows  every 
thing  that's  been  goin'  on. 

MRS,  WHEELER.  (Ruefully)  I  should  think  he 
would !  (With  a  pathetic  smile  to  CLARENCE,)  Well, 
you've  been  in  the  army ;  I  don't  suppose  there's  any 
real  reason  to  mind  your  having  seen  that  we're  a 
rather  measly  family. 

BOBBY.  (Reasonably)  Why,  no,  we  aren't.  I 
don't  see  anything  to  worry  the  rest  of  you. 

MRS.  WHEELER.  (Swalloiving)  AVell,  some  of 
the  rest  of  us  do  worry,  I'm  afraid.  (Smiles  pathet 
ically)  Don't  let  me  keep  you  standing.  (CLAR 
ENCE  has  begun  to  sag.) 

BOBBY.     It's  his  liver. 

CLARENCE.  (To  him,  gratefully)  Thanks. 
(Completes  his  sagging  in  a  sitting  position  on  the 
settle,  where  he  is  again  unseen  from  the  greater 
part  of  the  room.) 

MRS.  WHEELER.  (To  BOBBY,  sniffing)  He's  very 
tactful. 

BOBBY.  (As  a  matter  of  course)  Sure.  (Re 
gards  her  placidly.) 


36  CLARENCE 

MRS.  WHEELER.  (Tapping  her  foot)  Have  you 
seen  your  father  at  all  this  morning1?  Has  he  been 
out  here  at  all  ?  (She  speaks  rapidly,  in  a  lowered 
voice,  almost  a  whisper.) 

BOBBY.    He  came  out  once. 

MRS.  WHEELER.     Only  once? 

BOBBY.    What  is  the  matter? 

MRS.  WHEELER.  (In  the  same  voice,  panting)  I 
don't  believe  I  can  stand  this  much  longer! 

BOBBY.  You  got  somep'n  you  want  to  see  papa 
about  ? 

MRS.  WHEELER.  Yes,  I  have!  (Going  towards 
door  L.)  I  can't  let  things  go  on  like  this !  (She 
intends  to  open  the  door  and  go  into  the  room,  but 
is  stopped  by  a  long,  loud  wail  in  that  quarter.  Then 
the  door  is  opened,  and  CORA  comes  out,  her  hand 
kerchief  to  her  eyes,  wailing,  followed  by  VIOLET, 
somber,  and  WHEELER,  stern  and  indignant.  When 
he  sees  his  wife  he  confronts  her  with  the  air  of  a 
man  zvho  is  angrily  bearing  enough  but  expects  more. 
Her  expression  justifies  his  anticipations.  CLAR 
ENCE  again  laboriously  arises  and  after  politely 
coughing,  during  the  next  bit  of  dialogue,  without 
attracting  anybody's  attention,  subsides  again  into 
his  seat.) 

CORA.  (As  she  comes,  sobbing)  I  we-yull !  You 
were  a  widower  yourself  once,  papa.  Yes,  you  were ! 
If  you  .  .  .  (Sobs)  Write  him  to  stay  off  (Sobs) 
the  place 

MRS.  WHEELER.  (In  a  sharp,  loud  voice)  Cora ! 
what  is  it? 

CORA.  (With  the  cry  of  a  refugee  flinging  her 
self  in  MRS.  WHEELER'S  arms,  sobbing)  Mama! 
They  say  I  can't  even  see  Mr.  Stern  again !  They're 
treating  me  like  a  mere  dog!  I  hope  you'll  just 
give  them  fits ! 

(Enter  WHEELER  L.) 


CLARENCE  37 

WHEELER.     (To  VIOLET,)    Get  her  home. 

MRS.  WHEELER.  Never  mind,  Miss  Pinney.  I'm 
only  a  stepmother,  but  the  child  seems  to  turn  to  me 
instead  of  to  the  governess.  That  seems  strange,  of 
course,  considering  the  father's  preference ! 

VIOLET.  ( Her  hand  to  her  eyes  as  if  she  had  been 
struck)  Oh !  (She  turns  away  quickly.) 

WHEELER.  (Under  his  breath  to  MRS.  WHEELER, 
with  sharp  denunciation)  Shame,  Fanny !  (Louder) 
We  can't  have  this  going  on  here!  Cora!  I'll  give 
you  five  seconds  to  begin  acting  like  a  human  being. 
(He  swings  her  away  from  MRS.  WHEELER,  who 
stands  stung  and  insulted.)  Pull  down  your  veil! 
(To  VIOLET J  Miss  Pinney,  pull  it  down  for  her. 
here! 

VIOLET.  (Her  voice  shaking)  Mr.  Wheeler,  I 
can't 

WHEELER.  (In  sharp  appeal)  For  heaven's  sake, 
don't  you  get  upset !  Get  her  out !  Get  her  home ! 
Bobby,  you  take  your  mother  home,  d'you  hear 
me? 

(VIOLET  is  urging  the  stricken  CORA  to  the  door  c.) 

MRS.  WHEELER.  (Bitterly)  Thank  you,  no !  It 
happens  that  one  person  prefers  me  to  Miss  Pinney. 
If  it's  only  poor  little  Cora! 

WHEELER.  (Desperately)  Heaven  help  me! 
(CORA  has  instantly  begun  to  sob  louder.)  Stop 
her!  Don't  take  her  out  there  while  she's  .  .  . 
(MRS.  WHEELER  begins  to  sob.  WHEELER  addresses 
her  desperately)  This  is  an  office;  don't  you  under 
stand?  (To  BOBBY J  Bobby,  can't  you  help  Miss 
Pinney  quiet  your  sister?  (He  swings  back  to  MRS. 
WHEELER,  sternly  repeating  the  expostulalory  name.) 

MRS.  WHEELER.    (Sobbing)    Always  neglected — 

WHEELER.  Fanny !  Fanny !  Fanny !  (She  sobs 
louder) 


38  CLARENCE 

(BOBBY  has  gone  instantly  to  CORA  and  Miss  PIN- 
NEY  up  c.  and  begun  shaking  his  fist  in  CORA'S 
face.) 

BOBBY.  You  shut  up!  You  bet  you'll  never  see 
him  again!  (CLARENCE  rises  again.) 

WHEELER.  Oh,  murder!  (He  strides  desper- 
&telv  away  from  her  toward  RV  and  with  horror  con 
fronts  CLARENCE  across  the  back  of  the  settle.  This 
is  an  astounding  climax  for  WHEELER. )  What  are 
you  .  .  .  (Abruptly  shifting)  Have  you  been  here 
all  through  this?  Oh,  murder,  I  forgot  you! 

CLARENCE.  I  don't  wonder  at  all.  (They  all  have 
turned  to  look  at  him.) 

CORA.  (Semi-hysterically  and  pathetically,  but 
quickly)  Clarence,  you  ought  to  know,  you're  a  sol 
dier.  What  would  you  do  if  you  were  treated  like 
this? 

CLARENCE.  (With  considerable  significance)  I'd 
go  home  with  Miss  Pinney. 

CORA.  (Choking  down  her  sobs)  All  right,  but 
they'll  see (She  goes  up  c.  with  VIOLET,  pull 
ing  down  her  veil.  MRS.  WHEELER  looks  at  CLAR 
ENCE,  and  decides  to  regulate  her  agitation  for  the 
present,  as  he  seems  a  fixture.) 

MRS.  WHEELER.  (With  dignified  pathos)  Bobby . 
will  you  give  me  your  arm  ? 

a*ss" BOBBY.  Why,  cert'nly.  (Goes  to  MRS.  WHEELER 
as  CORA  and  VIOLET  go  quickly  out  up  c.  MRS. 
WHEELER  and  BOBBY  start  up  c.,  she  with  her  head 
bent  fomvard.  WHEELER  looks  at  them,  frowning, 
then  strides  decisively,  importantly,  at  CLARENCE. ) 
Tell  you  some  more  about  that,  next  time  I  see  you. 
(Exit  with  MRS.  WHEELER  up  c.  CLARENCE  sub 
sides  into  his  seat.) 

(Buzzer  off.  MRS.  MARTYN  enters  up  c.,  crosses 
and  exits  L.  Silence.  CLARENCE  shakes  his 


CLARENCE  39 

head.  Decides  he's  wished  away  from  there. 
He  gets  up  slowly  and  forlornly  goes  up  a  few 
steps,  having  given  up.  MRS.  MARTYN  enters 
LV  a  bo x  of  cigars  in  her  hand.) 

MRS.  MARTYN.  Where  are  you  going,  Mr. — 
Mr. 

CLARENCE.  I  thought  he — forgotten  me  again.  He 
seemed  to  have  several  other  things  on  his  mind — 
so  I 

MRS.  MARTYN.    He  wants  you  to  sit  down,  please. 

CLARENCE.    (Sitting  c.)    Thanks. 

MRS.  MARTYN.  (Offering  cigars)  He  said  per 
haps  you'd  like 

CLARENCE.     (Accepting)     Thanks. 

MRS.  MARTYN.  He  thinks  he  can  find  a  position 
for  you.  But  first — he  wants  me  to  ask  you  if  it's 
really  true  you  can  drive  mules  without  swearing? 
(Seriously,  earnestly.) 

(CLARENCE,  preparing  to  light  the  cigar,  abandons 
that  idea  for  the  present;  he  looks  at  her,  then 
at  the  door  up  cv  through  which  the  disturbed 
family  have  gone  out;  then  he  looks  at  her 
again.) 

CLARENCE.  Does  that  mean  he  expects  to  give 
me  a  position — at  his  house? 

MRS.  MARTYN.  (Dryly)  I  think  it  must !  (Exits 
LY.  CLARENCE  half  rises;  then  sits  again.) 

throws'  open  the  door.    She  is  still  emotional, 
is  breathless  with  haste;  leaves  the  door  open.) 

CORA.  (All  in  a  breath)  Clarence,  if  papa  brings 
you  home  with  him,  I  want  you  to  promise  to  be  my 
only  friend.  (Swallowing  hurriedly  a  sob.)  You'll 
love  it  out  there,  Clarence! 


40  CLARENCE 

'(VIOLET  has  entered  just  before  the  conclusion  'of 
this  speech;  she  is  almost  running.) 

VIOLET.  (Seising  CORA'S  hand  and  taking  her 
quickly  to  the  door)  Cora!  Come  along!  Come 
along  home,  Cora!  (The  trick  accent  which  has 
just  barely  tinged  her  former  utterances  elusively  is 
somewhat  more  pronounced  in  this  exigency.) 

CORA.     Don't  forget,  Clarence! 

(Exit  with  VIOLET,  who  closes  the  door  decisively, 
not  releasing  CORA.  VIOLET,  as  she  gets  to 
door,  turns  and  nods  pleasantly.  CLARENCE 
with  a  dreamy  smile,  repeats  VIOLET'S  accent 
"Come  along.") 

CURTAIN 


ACT   II 

SCENE. — A  "drawing  room"  or  "living  rffom"  and 
in  connection  with  it  a  "solarium" — the  1912- 
1919  rendition  of  a  "conservatory."  The  walls 
are  panelled,  ivory  colored — and  the  architec 
ture  and  decoration  are  altogether  symmetrical. 
Down  c.,  in  R.  wall,  are  double  doors  of  glass, 
moderate  sized  panes,  the  glass  shielded  by  thin 
material. 

In  the  wall  space  to  R.  of  this  opening  is  a 
dark,  oval  portrait,  a  decoration  merely  .  .  . 
and  there  is  a  similar  portrait  in  the  correspond 
ing  space  L.  of  the  opening. 

There  is  a  "Baby  Grand"  piano  up  R.  on  stage 
by  steps  c. — the  other  furniture  is  comfortable, 
harmonious,  and  not  "pronounced"  or  eccentric, 
or  even  "clever" — the  tone  is  kept  light,  and 
there  is  no  varnished  wood  or  high  polish. 

At  back  is  platform  with  balustrade  on  either 
side  and  steps.  Centre  down  archways  R.  and 
L.  are  the  entrances  to  this  room,  there  are  pil- 
lars  c.  which  opening  leads  beyond  to  glass  doors 
C.  which  open  to  garden. 

This  is  a  "sun-room" 

In  the  drawing  room  the  lamps  are  not  lit, 
and  the  curtains  of  the  sun-room  are  pulled 
l)ack,  showing  an  Autumn  day  beyond  .  .  . 
mainly  the  trees  (pines  and  oaks)  of  a  large 
suburban  yard  ...  a  yard  of  several  acres,  with 
perhaps  the  glimpse  of  the  rather  distant  roof 
of  an  opulent  neighbor. 
41 


42  CLARENCE 

In  the  sun-room,  with  a  mop  and  bucket,  is 
DELL  A,  washing  the  tiles  of  the  floor.  DELL  A 
is  about  thirty — not  at  a//  like  a  "French  maid" 
— but  very  like  an  American-Irish  one  at  $7.00 
a  week.  She  is  rather  robust  and  not  particu 
larly  plain  of  face — it  is  possible  to  understand 
why  BOBBY  kissed  her.  At  times,  finding  some 
thing  obdurate  upon  the  tiles,  she  kneels  and 
works  with  a  scrubbing  brush  from  the  bucket. 
She  is  in  this  position  at  the  beginning  of  the 
Act,  and  is  conversing  with  an  unseen  person  a 
room  or  so  distant  to  her  L.  This  person  makes 
no  visible  entrance  either  now  or  later,  but  has 
a  thin  voice,  higher  and  older  than  DELLA'S, 
and  also,  like  DELLA'S,  there  is  the  faint  rem 
nant  of  an  almost  worn-out  brogue. 

THE  VOICE.     Delia? 

DELLA.    I  hear  ye,  Rosie. 

VOICE.  D'he  say  how  his  liver  is  to-day? — the 
poor  sojer-boy? 

DELLA.    He  did  not. 

VOICE.     I  want  to  know:  what  rs  he? 

DELLA.  (Rising  to  the  mop)  Well,  some  o'  the 
time  he  runs  the  typewriter  in  the  boss's  lib'ry  up 
stairs. 

VOICE.     He  do? 

DELLA.  He  fixed  the  hot  water  heater  in  the  base 
ment,  day  before  yesterday ;  he's  a  bit  of  a  plumber. 
I  think. 

VOICE.    Well,  then  what'll  he  be? 

DELLA.  He'll  be  annything  you  ask  him  to  be. 
(Sentimentally)  He's  a  sweet  nature. 

VOICE.    He'd  be  better  lookin'  if  it  wasn't  fer  .  .  . 

DELLA.    Hush,  Rosie! 

(CLARENCE  enters  R. — he  is  still  in  his  old  uniform — 
he  still  somewhat  stoops  and  sags  at  times;  but 


CLARENCE  43 

there  is  an  improvement  in  his  appearance.  He 
walks  without  limping — is  straighter;  he  is  no 
longer  sallow  or  "hollow-eyed" — his  hair  is 
more  orderly.  His  expression  is  one  of  pa 
tience,  as  if  his  army  experience  and  his  liver, 
and  the  consequences  of  both,  as  well  as  his 
present  situation,  were  things  to  be  accepted 
with  resignation.  He  has  dispensed  with  his 
spectacles.  He  carries  a  small,  crumpled  leather 
cylinder  in  his  hand,  and  places  it  upon  the 
piano.  He  lifts  the  piano  lid,  and  sighs.) 

(BELLA  comes  down — casually — leans  on  piano.) 

BELLA.  You're  lookin'  better,  Clarence.  What's 
become  of  yer  spectacles?  (Pauses  in  her  zvork.) 

CLARENCE.  They  told  me  to  wear  'em  until  I  got 
so  I  could  see  without  'em.  I  could,  yesterday.  (He 
unfolds  the  leather,  displaying  a  set  of  small  tools.) 

BELLA.    Where'd  you  git  them  tools  ? 

CLARENCE.    I  borrowed  'em  from  the  Swede. 

BELLA.    What  kind  of  tools  are  they  ? 

CLARENCE.  (Taking  out  some  of  the  tools)  Au 
tomobile  tools.  (He  begins  to  tune  the  piano  with 
them.) 

BELLA.  (Simply  inquiring)  Are  they  good  f er  a 
piano  ? 

CLARENCE.  (Explaining  mildly)  That  would  de 
pend  on  what  you  did  to  a  piano  with  'em. 

BELLA.  (Exclaiming)  You  ain't  a  piano-tuner, 
now! 

CLARENCE.  Yes,  now.  (Scales.)  I  noticed  one 
or  two  of  the  keys  were  off  ...  I  thought  I  could 
make  'em  sound  better. 

BELLA.     (Impressed)    How  d'ju  know  how? 

CLARENCE.  (Absently)  Well,  you  see,  I've  been 
in  the  army  .  .  .  (As  if  this  were  a  part  of  an  ex 
planation  to  follow.) 


44  CLARENCE 

BELLA.  (Protesting)  Why,  Miss  Cora  says  you 
drove  a  mule  in  the  army ! 

CLARENCE.  Well,  I  know  just  as  much  about  tun 
ing  pianos,  as  I  did  about  driving  a  mule. 

DELLA.  (Puzzled)  Clair'nce,  what  line  was  you 
in  before  you  went  in  the  army? 

CLARENCE.  I  was  working  in  a  laboratory. 
DELLA.  Oh?  In  a  hotel,  I  s'pose?  (Then 
amused)  Rosie  was  wonderin*  if  we  ought  to  call 
you  "Mister  Clair'nce" !  (Then  seriously  interested, 
gently)  Have  y'iver  been  married,  Clair'nce  ?  (He 
shakes  his  head,  operating  upon  the  piano.  She  goes 
on  ominously.  Music.)  WThat  a  body  sees  in  this 
house  wouldn't  put  'em  much  in  a  mind  fer  marry- 
in',  I  guess !  (Music)  Young  lady  o'  the  house  un 
der  watch  to  keep  her  from  runnin'  away  wit'  a 
grass-widdy wer ;  the  Missuz  crazy  wit*  jealousy; 
the  boss  in  love  wit'  the  governess  .  .  .  (CLARENCE 
strikes  a  thunderous  chord  that  makes  her  jump.) 

CLARENCE.  (Chord!)  Yes,  and  the  young  son 
of  the  house  threatened  with  breach-of-promise  by 
a  housemaid !  It  is  shocking,  Delia ! 

DELLA.  (Astounded)  Who  told  you  that,  Clair 
'nce?  (CLARENCE  loudly  plays  the  beginning  of 
"Here  Comes  the  Bride''  not  looking  at  DELLA,  but 
at  the  arch  R.  appears  a  man-servant,  DINWIDDIE, 
who  carries  a  tailor's  double  carton  of  considerable 
size.  He  wears  a  dark  sack-coat,  black  trousers, 
black  bow  tie.  He  enters  in  a  human  manner,  but 
freezes  with  repugnance  at  sight  of  DELLA.  He  ap 
proaches  CLARENCE.  CLARENCE  plays  "Here  Comes 
the  Bride."  Dulcet.  Crosses  to  L.)  What  have  ye 
there  now,  Mister  Dinwiddie? 

DINWIDDIE.  Cook  says  they're  yours,  Clarence. 
She  says  you  brought  'em  in  and  left  'em  in  the  back 
hall.  See  you've  got  your  pay  from  the  Guvment, 
and  gone  to  squander'n'  it  first  thing.  Bought  your 
self  some  clothes. 


CLARENCE  45 

»  .     *« 

CLARENCE.  ^  (Preoccupied  with  piano)  Yes. 
Would  you  mind  putting  them  in  my  room  for  me, 
Dinwiddie  ? 

DINWIDDIE.  (Sincerely)  Well,  I'm  not  sure  ft's 
my  place  to  do  that,  Clarence.  You  been  here  about 
three  weeks  now,  and  the  domestic  side  of  the  house 
hold  ain't  able  to  settle  what  you  are. 

CLARENCE.    What  /  are  ? 

DINWIDDIE.  I  mean,  are  you  one  of  us,  or  do  we 
treac  you  as  one  o'  the  family  ? 

CLARENCE.  (Gives  him  an  absent-minded  glance, 
continuing,  preoccupied)  It  doesn't  matter. 

DINWIDDIE.  (Perplexed,  but  kindly}  I'll  take 
them  up  for  you  this  time,  anyhow.  (DELLA  crosses 
to  L.  DINWIDDIE  crosses  1o  R.  Starts  out  R.,  but 
stops  halfway  and  speaks  placidly,  without  looking 
at  either  CLARENCE  or  DELLAJ  I'm  sorry  to  see 
you  in  loose  company,  Clair'nce.  (Goes  straight  out 
through  glass  doors  down  Rj 

DELLA.  (Going  to  c,  bitterly.  Comes  towards 
him,  angrily  agitated)  Clair'nce,  would  you  talk 
like  that  of  Miss  Pinney  jist  because  you'd  hap 
pened  to  see  somebody  a-kissin'  of  her? 

CLARENCE.  (At  piano.  Stung)  What?  When 
did  anybody  .  .  .  (READY  BELL) 

DELLA.  (Cutting  him  off)  I  said  if  ye  did  ?  Now 
listen:  If  somebody  caught  ye  bein'  kissed  ag'inst 
yer  will  wouldn't  you  say  somebody  had  to  do  the 
right  thing  by  ye  ? 

CLARENCE.  (Shaking  his  head)  Oh,  if  that  hap 
pened  to  me  .  .  .  I'd  be  very  upset  ...  I  don't 
know. 

DELLA.  (Goes  up  c.,  mopping  in  doorway — em 
phatically)  Well,  it  did  happen  to  me,  an'  1  do 
know!  (Exits  arch  L.) 

( BOBBY  opens  door  L.  anxious — he  keeps  out  of 
DELLA'S  sight.) 


46  CLARENCE 

BOBBY.  (Enters  R.  In  hoarse  whisper)  Could 
you  get  her  to  "greet"  anything?  (Goes  up,  sees 
DELLA — dodges  back  L.  of  CLARENCE. ) 

CLARENCE.  I  thought  better  not  try  yet.  She 
seems  right  bitter. 

BOBBY.  (Nervously  depressed)  Well,  stick  by 
me,  Clarence;  I  cert'nly  need  help! 

(A  bell  sounds  off.     BOBBY  exits  hastily  K.     Bell 
DELLA  stands  with  her  cheek  against  a  window 
in  the  sun-room,  peering  to  off  R.,  getting  an 
oblique  view  of  the  principal  entrance  to  the 
house,  evidently.)       3&^~   *&>  G^ 

DELLA.  (Looking  off  Rj  Well,  if  that  ain't  a 
bold  man ! 

CLARENCE.     Bold  ? 

DELLA.  It's  that  grass-widdywer.  Miss  Cora's. 
Ain't  he  callin'  at  the  very  front  door!  (Turns 
away. ) 

CLARENCE.    What's  his  name? 

DELLA.    Mr.  Hubert  Stim. 

CLARENCE.    (Thoughtfully)    Stim? 

DELLA.  (Down  to  CLARENCE;  He's  rich,  and 
he's  had  the  experience  o'  wan  wife :  he'd  be  a  good 
match  fer  anybody. 

(Enter  DINWIDDIE.    Goes  up  L.) 

DINWIDDIE  (Coldly)  Callers?  This  is  no  place 
for  all  the  loose  help.  (Music.) 

DELLA.  (Impotent  to  avenge  herself)  It's  a  bad 
world!  (Exit  to  off  L.  up,  with  her  bucket  and 
mop.) 

(At  the  same  time  VIOLET  enters  up  c.  She  wears 
a  quiet,  pretty  afternoon  dress.  As  she  comes 
in,  CLARENCE  rises  from  the  piano  bench.) 


CLARENCE  47 

VIOLET.  (Enters  with  hat  from  garden.  To  DIN- 
WIDDIE;  I'll  see  him  m  here.  (CLARENCE  rises. 
Exit  DINWIDDIE  up  L.)  No ,  please  go  right  on  tun 
ing  the  piano,  if  that  is  what  you're  doing.  (Puts 
hat  on  table.  She  is  quick  and  decisive  in  manner; 
somewhat  perturbed,  too.  CLARENCE  has  begun  to 
lower  the  lid.  He  turns  to  her  gravely) 

CLARENCE.  You  mean  you  want  me  to  go  on 
timing  the  piano  while  you  talk  to ? 

VIOLET.    (Smiling)    Yes,  I  dp. 

CLARENCE.  (Restoring  the  lid  to  its  highest  po 
sition)  I'll  be  glad  to.  (Sits  and  resumes  his  work. 
VIOLET  goes  down  L.cJ 

(MR.  HUBERT  STEM  enters.  MR.  STEM  is  about  26, 
cheerful,  good-looking,  "smart" — he  wears  a 
homespun  or  tweed  "sack"  suit,  and  is  daintily 
haberdashed.  Goes  to  VIOLET. ) 

STEM.  Good  afternoon,  Miss  Pinney.  (He  glan 
ces  at  CLARENCE  with  some  surprise  ) 

VIOLET.    (Gravely)    How  do  you  do? 

STEM.    You  got  my  note? 

VIOLET.    That's  why  I  am  seeing  you.      (Music.) 

STEM.  Ah  ...  isn't  there  somewhere  we  could 
go? 

VIOLET.  (Shaking  her  head)  Nowhere  else,  I'm 
afraid. 

STEM.  Well  .  .  .  if  this  is  my  only  chance  to  see 
you  .  .  . 

VIOLET.  (Biting  her  lips)  Please  listen.  Mr. 
Wheeler  agreed  with  me  .  .  . 

STEM,  (Interrupting  cheerfully)  Yes.  Mr. 
Wheeler  always  agrees  with  you,  doesn't  he  ?  (CLAR 
ENCE'S  sounding  of  a  key  becomes  a  little  more  em 
phatic  ) 

VIOLET.  (Her  voice  somewhat  sharper)  He 
agreed  with  me  that  I'd  better  see  you  the  next  time 
you  came  and  explain  to  you  clearly  .  .  .  (Music.) 


48  CLARENCE 

STEM.  (Glancing  at  CLARENCE,  who  seems  all  the 
while  profoundly  occupied  with  the  piano)  This  is 
a  splendid  chance  for  a  clear  explanation ! 

VIOLET.  It  won't  disturb  me  in  what  I  have  to 
say. 

STEM.  That's  another  thing  shows  how  remark 
able  you  are ! 

VIOLET.  Mr  Wheeler  prefers  not  to  see  you  this 
time  himself.  (Music  ) 

STEM.  I  should  think  he  might  prefer  that !  ( Re 
ferring  to  CLARENCE'S  music.) 

VIOLET.  (Quietly  but  grimly)  He  wished  me  to 
say  that  in  future,  if  you  call  here,  he  will  see  you 
himself,  and  that  if  there  are  notes  or  telephone 
messages,  he  will  receive  them  and  reply.  (Music.) 

STEM.  (Hopfully)  But  why  wouldn't  he  let  you 
be  the  one  to  see  me  and  receive  notes  and  telephone 
messages  from  me  f  That  would  be  what  I've  been 
working  for. 

VIOLET.  (Pnmly)  I  have  told  you  what  he  asked 
me  to. 

STEM.  (Eagerly)  But  you  haven't  answered  my 
question.  (Music.)  You  know  what  it's  about? 

VIOLET.    No. 

STEM.  (Becoming  loverhke — crosses  to  VIOLET, 
close)  It's  about  you;  it's  all  been  just  an  excuse 
for  that.  You've  kept  yourself  out  of  my  way  ;  well, 
I'm  inventive.  I'll  tell  you  a  secret  •  it  was  I  that 
telephoned  you.  Cora  and  I  were  at  the  Country 
Club  dance.  I  did  it  all  ...  just  for  a  glimpse  of 
you!  (Music.) 

CLARENCE.  (As  if  profoundly  concentrated  in  his 
work)  B  flat.  B  flat.  Same  old  B  flat. 

STEM.  (Huskily  to  VIOLET:)  This  is  intolerable ! 
(Goes  L,J 

VIOLET.  (As  if  about  to  rise)  There's  no  need  to 
prolong  it,  I've  said  all  I  need.  (Half  rising) 

STEM.    (Suddenly  desperate,  goes  to  her)    No! 


CLARENCE  49 

If  you  will  see  me  with  a  piano-tuner  in  the  room, 
why  I  don't  care,  you'll  have  to  listen!  You  know 
why  I've  taken  the"  only  means  I  could  find  to  even 
get  a  glimpse  of  you  now  and  then !  Violet,  how 
long  are  you  going  to  keep  me  ...  (CLARENCE 
bangs  the  piano.)  Confound  it !  (He  walks  over 
to  CLARENCE.^  See  here,  my  friend  .  .  . 

CLARENCE.  (Rising  politely)  It's  Mr.  Stim,  I 
believe  ? 

STEM.  (Sharply)  Mr.  Stem,  not  Stim!  Mr. 
Hubert  Stem!  Let  me  say,  I'm  usually  glad  to  see 
the  returned  soldiers  getting  their  old  positions  back, 
but  they  do  take  a  holiday  sometimes,  don't  they? 

CLARENCE.  (Innocently)  You  mean  you'd  rather 
I  did  this  some  other  time? 

STEM.  (Showing  him  a  bill,  unseen  by  VIOLET) 
There'll  be  this  in  it :  Get  your  hat  and  coat  and  go 
back  to  the  city :  you  can  tune  this  piano  some  other 
time. 

CLARENCE  (Mildly)  Tune  it?  I  finished  tuning 
it  quite  a  while  ago.  All  this  last  you've  heard:  I 
was  playing. 

STEM.  (Taken  aback — he  looks  at  VIOLET  ay  if 
to  inquire  whether  she  has  noticed  that  the  tuner  is 
perhaps  insane;  then  shows  the  bill  again  to  CLAR 
ENCE^  Just  get  your  things  and  go  back  to  town. 

CLARENCE.    (Amiably)    I  can't;  I  live  here. 

STEM.    What? 

VIOLET.  (Rising)  Oh,  this  is  one  of  Mr.  Wheel 
er's  secretaries,  Mr.  Stem. 

CLARENCE.  (Rising  again  quickly,  shakes  hands) 
How-dyJ-do,  Mr.  Stem  ?  It  was  an  Irish  person  told 
me  it  was  "Stim/'  You're  not  interested  in 
music? 

STEM.     (Dryly)    No.    Are  you? 

CLARENCE.  (Crouching  and  again  sitting  on  the 
piano  bench)  Oooh !  (He  whispers  this,  appre 
ciating  that  STEM  has  scored.) 


50  CLARENCE 

STEM.  (Turning  to  VIOLET )  Miss  Pinney,  won't 
you  come  out  for  a  breath  of  air  ? 

VIOLET.    (Shaking  her  head)    Thanks.    (Music.) 

STEM.  (Desperately  to  CLARENCE )  Won't  you 
come  for  a  breath  of  air? 

CLARENCE.  (Mildly  surprised)  You  want  me  to 
take  a  walk  with  you  ? 

STEM.  Well,  if  you'd  go  ahead,  I'd  come  after 
you,  and  take  you  over  and  show  you  my  place. 
Aren't  you  interested  in  Nature? 

CLARENCE.  (Shaking  his  head)  No.  All  I  care 
for's  my  music. 

STEM.    Your  what? 

CLARENCE.  (Politely)  Perhaps  you'd  rather  I 
didn't  .  .  .  (With  a  gesture  to' the  keys.)  Shall 

VIOLET.    Do. 

STEM.    (Entreating  hoarsely)    Violet,  won't  you? 

(She  shakes  her  head,  and  places  a  piece  of  sheet- 
music  before  CLARENCE  on  the  rack.  VIOLET 
goes,  up  to  piano  and  kneels  on  settee.) 

VIOLET.    Do  you  know  this? 

CLARENCE.  (Quickly  changing  the  air)  Well,  I 
can  try  it.  (Does  so)  It'g  pretty,  isn't  it?  Kind  of 
sad. 

STEM.  (Going  up  fctep  and  on  platform.  Con 
trolling  himself)  I  think  I'll  say  good  afternoon ! 

(VIOLET  nods.  CLARENCE,  half  rising,  bows  gra 
ciously.  STEM  strides  out  R  CLARENCE  re 
sumes  the  air  he  is  playing.) 

CLARENCE.  (Playing)  I  couldn't  tell,  but  it 
seemed  to  me  almost  as  if  you  wanted  to  get  rid  of 
him. 

VIOLET.  (Dryly)  Did  I?  (Goes  down  stage  of 
piano,  arranging  sheet  music  on  the  piano.) 


CLARENCE  51 

CLARENCE.  (Turning  from  the  keys)  It  seemed 
almost  as  if  you'd  taken  some  prejudice  against 
him. 

VIOLET.  (Sinks  into  seat  at  piano)  Well,  don't 
you  think  it's  pretty  odious  of  a  man,  when  he  knows 
a  girl  dislikes  him,  to  pursue  her  by  pretending  to 
pursue  a  younger  girl  who's  in  her  charge? 

CLARENCE.  Are  you  consulting  me  on  this  point 
because  I've  been  in  the  army,  or  more  on  the 
ground  that  I'm  a  person? 

VIOLET.    (Smiling  faintly)    More  on  that  ground. 

CLARENCE.  That  surprised  me.  However,  speak 
ing  to  your  point  that  a  pursuer  belonging  to  the 
more  cumbersome  sex  becomes  odious  to  a  fugitive 
of  the  more  dexterous  sex,  when  the  former  affects 
the  posture  of  devotion  to  a  ward  of  the  latter  .  .  . 
(He  pauses,  judicially,  for  a  moment — and  she  in 
terrupts  him,  amused.) 

VIOLET.  (Simply  curious)  Were  you  a  college 
professor  before  the  war  ? 

CLARENCE.  (Conscientiously)  Not.  Not  a  pro- 
fessor. 

VIOLET.    Surely  not  just  a  student? 

CLARENCE,    No.     Not  a  student. 

VIOLET.    Well,  then,  what  .  .  . 

CLARENCE.  (Earnestly)  What  I  was  leading  to 
was,  that  1.  personally,  am  indifferent  to  your  rea 
son  for  finding  this  young  man,  or  any  other  young 
man  odious. 

VIOLET.  (Somewhat  offended)  Thank  you.  I 
didn't  put  it  on  personal  grounds,  I  believe.  (Rises 
and  goes  c.) 

CLARENCE.  (Rises)  The  reason,  I  say,  is  indif 
ferent  to  me.  I  merely  experience  the  pleasure  of 
the  fact. 

VIOLET.    (Surprised  and  puzzled)    What  fact? 

CLARENCE.  That  you  don't  like  him.  (Returns  to 
piano  and  tools.) 


52  CLARENCE 

VIOLET.  (Staring)  I  believe  you  are  the  queer 
est  person  I  ever  met. 

CLARENCE.  (Nodding)  That's  what  my  grand 
mother  always  said  of  my  grandfather,  and  they  had 
been  married  sixty-one  years.  (Gathers  his 
tools.) 

VIOLET.  (Impressed)  Your  grandfather  was  as 
queer  an  that? 

CLARENCE.  No.  Only  to  grandmother.  (Start- 
ing  to  go  out  R.J 

VIOLET.  Are  you  very  much  like  him?  (CLAR 
ENCE  stops  abruptly  and  turns  to  her.) 

CLARENCE.  I'm  just  as  much  like  my  grand 
mother;  you  see,  I'm  descended  just  as  much  from 
her  as  I  am  from  him. 

VIOLET.    I  never  thought  of  that.    (Laughs) 

CLARENCE.  (Earnestly)  Well,  after  this,  won't 
you  think  of  me  as  just  as  much  like  her  as  like 
him? 

VIOLET.  (Rather  stiffly)  Isn't  that  a  little  "per 
sonal"? 

CLARENCE.  Personal?  Good  gracious!  You've 
just  been  discussing  my  most  intimate  family  affairs : 
my  grandfather,  my  grandmother  ,  .  . 

VIOLET.  (Checking  him  impatiently)  Never 
mind!  I  will  think  of  you  as  just  as  much  like 
your  grandmother  as  your  grandfather! 

CLARENCE.    It's  very  kind  of  you  to  think  of  me. 

VIOLET.     (Sharply)     I  didn't  say  ... 

CLARENCE.  (Cutting  her  off,  rapidly)  It's  kind 
because  you've  got  so  many  to  think  of :  I  want  you 
to  think  of  me ;  Mr.  Stim  .  .  .  Stem !  .  .  .  wants 
you  to  think  of  him ;  Bobby  wants  you  to  think  of 
him ;  Mr.  Wheeler  wants  you  to  think  .  .  . 

VIOLET.  (Interrupting  angrily)  That  will  do, 
please ! 

CLARENCE.    Well,  but  doesn't  .  .  . 

VIOLET.     (Sharply — quickly)    You  know  my  po- 


CLARENCE  53 

sition  in  this  house ;  dq  you  think  it's  manly  to  refer 
to  it? 

CLARENCE.  I  don't  know  about  "manly" ;  maybe 
this  is  where  I'm  more  like  my  grandmother.  My 
idea  was  merely  that  since  so  many  want  you  to 
think  about  them,  if  you'd  just  concentrate  your 
thoughts  on  somebody  that  had  been  in  the  army,  it 
might  avoid  .  .  .  complications. 

VIOLET.  (Bitterly)  Do  you  suppose  I'd  stay  in 
this  house  another  hour,  if  I  hadn't  given  my  word 
to  Mr.  Wheeler  I'd  stand  by  Cora,  until  she  comes 
through  this  nonsense?  He  asked  me  to  just  stick 
it  out  until  the  child's  come  to  herself  again,  and  I 
gave  him  my  word  I'd  do  it.  It  seems  you  take 
Mrs.  Wheeler's  view  of  me ! 

CLARENCE.     But,  Mr.  Stem  .  .  .  he's  .  .  . 

VIOLET.  (Sharply)  If  I  told  Cora  the  truth 
about  him,  she'd  only  hate  me.  If  I  left  her,  she'd 
do  the  first  crazy  thing  she  could  think  of.  She's 
really  in  love;  it's  a  violence,  but  it  may  last  a  long 
while. 

CLARENCE.  She  tells  me  it's  "forever" !  I'm  her 
only  friend  and  she  made  me  her  only  confidant  .  .  . 
except  her  stepmother,  and  Delia,  and  Dinwiddie, 
and  both  of  the  chauffeurs.  She  told  us  that  when 
she  first  saw  him,  she  knew  it  was  forever.  (Am 
iably)  Do  you  think  it's  advisable,  Miss  Pinney,  for 
.  .  .  anybody  to  fall  in  love  .  .  .  perma 
nently  ? 

VIOLET.  (Turning  away  coldly,  then  facing  him) 
I  don't  think  I  feel  like  holding  a  discussion  with 
you  about  such  things  ...  or  anything  else. 

CLARENCE.  (Looks  at  her,  his  head  on  one  side, 
philosophically)  That  must  be  all,  then.  (Starts 
out  R.,  but  pauses  as  she  speaks.) 

VIOLET.  When  you  first  came  here,  I  thought  you 
were  another  friendless  person,  like  me;  pretty  well 
adrift  in  the  world,  so  that  you  had  to  make  your- 


54  CLARENCE 

self  useful  in  whatever  you  could  find,  just  as  I  did. 
I  did  make  that  mistake;  I  thought  I'd  found  a 
friend ! 

CLARENCE.    Couldn't  I  keep  on  .  .  .  being  found? 

VIOLET.  (Decisively,  but  with  feeling)  Thank 
you,  no!  Not  after  what  you  said  a  moment  ago! 
I'm  glad  you  said  it,  though,  because  I  like  to  know 
who  my  enemies  are!  (Crosses  L.,  then  up  to  win 
dow) 

CLARENCE.  (Blankly)  Oh?  (He  puts  his  head 
on  one  side,  looking  at  her.  She  sits  R.) 

(CORA  is  heard  off  up  LV  in  the  sun-room,  calling.) 

CORA.  (Off  up  L.J  Clarence!  Clair-w/i-unce ! 
('VIOLET  turns  up.  She  comes  in  seriously  and  eag 
erly  up  R.,  in  the  sun-room,  wearing  a  modish  after 
noon  dress.)  Clarence,  Dinwiddie  says  you've  been 
throwin*  your  money  around  on  clothes.  (As  she 
comes  down)  I  wonder  how  you  will  look  out  of  a 
uniform!  Funnier  than  ever,  I  expect,  don't  you? 
(Genially)  Don't  you  think  maybe  you  will,  Clar 
ence? 

CLARENCE.    No.    I  think  it'll  be  an  improvement. 

CORA.  Bobby  says  you  wouldn't  know  what  kind 
of  clothes  to  order,  Clarence. 

CLARENCE.  That  is,  he  thinks  they'd  be  different 
from  his  ? 

CORA.     Do  put  'em  on. 

CLARENCE.    Why,  I  was  going  to.    (Goes  R .) 

CORA.  We  all  want  to  see  you  in  'em.  f  She  iitir 
perfectly  suppresses  a  giggle.) 

CLARENCE.    (At  door,  nodding)    So  do  I. 

(VIOLET  goes  to  couch  and  sits.) 

CORA.  You  know,  Clarence,  you  always  did  seem 
an  awfully  peculiar  kind  of  a  soldier. 


CLARENCE  5S 

CLARENCE.  That's  what  the  officers  kept  telling 
me. 

( CLARENCE  exits  R.J 

CORA.  Isn't  he  the  queerest  ole  thing  ?  He's  aw 
ful  sympathetic  and  useful  around  the  place,  and  so 
mysterious  and  likable ;  but  I  overheard  mama  telling 
papa  last  night  she  thinks  he  must  be  crazy  for  hir 
ing  him  just  because  he  could  drive  mules  without 
swearing,  and  nobody  knows  a  thing  about  him. 
Papa  said  it  was  mostly  because  Clarence  was  a 
stranded  soldier  and  he  didn't  have  any  place  for 
him  except  to  dictate  his  letters  to  when  he  was 
home,  but  he  guessed  maybe  he  was  crazy  to  do  it. 
(Pauses)  What's  the  matter  with  you? 

VIOLET.    Nothing. 

CORA.  You  look  the  way  you  do  when  you're 
teaching  me  Latin.  Did  you  know  Clarence  had  be 
gun  tutoring  Bobby  in  Math  ?  Bobby  says  Clarence 
is  a  Wiz.  at  Math.  Oh,  yes,  and  I  ...  (Sits) 
overheard  Delia  talkin'  to  Bobby,  and  then  Bobby 
talkm'  to  Clarence,  and  Bobby's  put  all  his  affairs  in 
Clarence's  hands.  (  VIOLET  sits.)  Clarence  said  he'd 
do  the  best  he  could,  but  he  thought  Bobby  belonged 
in  Salt  Lake  City,  whatever  he  meant  by  that.  Isn't 
he  weird  I 

VIOLET.    (Frowning)    Yes;  I  think  he  is  ... 

CORA.     By-the-way,  who  was  here  a  while  ago? 

VIOLET.     Someone  called  on  me. 

CORA.    (Beginning  to  be  suspicious)    Who  was  it  ? 

VIOLET.  Cora,  don't  you  understand — when  a 
person  says  "someone,"  that  means  not  to  ask  ? 

CORA.  (More  suspicious)  I  believe  I'll  ask  Din- 
widdie.  (Rises,  goes  c.) 

VIOLET.  It  won't  do  you  any  good ;  he  won't  tell 
you. 

CORA.  Why  won't  he  ?  Did  anybody  give  him  or 
ders  not  to  tell  me? 


56  CLARENCE 

VIOLET.    Never  mind  that,  Cora. 

CORA.    You  did! 

VIOLET.    If  I  did,  I  had  authority  for  it. 

CORA.  (Sharply)  Then  it  was  Hubert  Stem! 
You  can't  deny  it ! 

VIOLET.  (Stiffly)  I'm  not  called  upon  to  "deny" 
anything  to  you,  Cora. 

CORA.  (Goes  up  to  window  c.  Loudly)  It  was! 
He  was  here!  It  was  him! 

VIOLET.  (Wearily,  but  sharply)  It  was  "he," 
Cora.  You  must  begin  to  look  after  your  pro" 
nouns. 

CORA.  (Coming  down  again.  Loudly,  almost 
tearfully)  What  do  I  care  for  your  old  pronouns! 
You  know  he  was  here!  He  was  here,  tryin'  to  see 
me,  and  you  kept  him  from  it.  You  drove  him  away, 
I  know  you  did !  You  drove  him  away ! 

VIOLET.  (Gravely,  quickly)  No.  I  wanted  him 
to  go,  but  if  anybody  drove  him  away,  I  think  it  was 
Clarence. 

CORA.  (Furiously)  That  upstart?  He  dared  to 
drive  out  a  guest  of  mine?  Then  just  wait  till  I  get 
a  chance  at  him!  Does  Clarence  think  he's  master 
around  here?  (Instantly  becoming  emotionally  pa 
thetic,  her  voice  loud  and  tremulous)  Which  chair 
did  he  sit  in  when  he  was  here  ? 

VIOLET.  (Coldly)  He  sat  on  the  piano  bench. 
(Crosses  down  to  seat  R.C.) 

CORA.  (Loudly  plaintive)  Oh!  (She  sinks  to 
the  floor  by  the  piano  bench,  her  arm  caressingly 
over  it.)  Oh,  Hubert!  Poor  Hubert!  You  came 
to  find  me,  in  spite  of  everything,  didn't  you  ?  And 
they  treated  you  so  cruelly,  so  ... 

VIOLET.  (Sharply)  Mr.  Stem  stood  over  here! 
It  was  Clarence  on  the  piano  bench. 

CORA.  (Jumping  away  from  the  bench  with  an 
outcry,  as  if  it  had  stung  her)  Ah !  (Jumping  up) 
What  did  you  tell  me  Hubert  sat  there  for? 


CLARENCE  57 

VIOLET.  You're  not  going  to  go  through  it  again, 
are  you,  with  the  couch  ? 

CORA.  (Heaving  angrily)  What  did  that  hor 
rible  Clarence  do  to  him  co  drive  him  out? 

VIOLET.  (Gravely)  Well,  he  didn't  use  profan 
ity.  You  know,  that's  one  thing  your  father  said  he 
engaged  Clarence  for;  because  he  said  he  could 
drive  without  strong  language. 

CORA.  (Outraged)  Do  you  mean  to  insinuate 
that  Mr.  Stem  is  a  mere  mule  ? 

VIOLET.  (Quickly)  Oh,  get  hold  of  yourself, 
Cora. 

(Enter  BOBBY  from  up  L.  on  balcony.) 

CORA.  I  won't!  (Determinedly)  I'll  let  every 
body  understand  this  much :  If  there's  got  to  be  any 
insinuations  about  drivin'  mules  in  this  family,  I  can 
be  just  as  mulish  as  anybody !  Yes,  and  I  will  be, 
too!! 

(  BOBBY,  during  this  speech,  is  in  a  state  of  exas 
peration.) 

BOBBY.  (Coming  down)  You  certainly  will !  Oh, 
I  heard  you,  but  you're  wrong!  I  guess  if  there's 
goin'  to  be  any  mulishness  in  this  fam'ly,  it'll  be 
from  me!  How  often  do  I  have  to  tell  you  you're 
not  to  speak  to  Violet  like  this  ?  Shame  on  you ! 

CORA.  (Her  eyes  wide  with  fury)  Why,  you 
mere,  miserable  little  .  .  . 

BOBBY.  (Vehemently  cutting  her  off  )*  Don't  you 
know  that  this  is  one  of  the  most  spiritchal  and  high- 
minded  women  that  ever  lived?  (Gesticulating  at 
VIOLET. )  The  idea  of  your  troubling  her  about  your 
petty  amours  with  that  Hubert  Stem  .  .  .  (He  is 
interrupted  in  full  gesture.  DELL  A  has  followed  him, 
and  at  this  moment  makes  her  appearance  at  the  R. 


58  CLARENCE 

side  of  the  sun-room  opening,  up  c.  Except  for  Her 
head,  she  is  only  partially  seen.) 

DELLA.  (Rather  ominously)  Could  I  have  an 
other  word  wit*  ye,  Mr.  Robert? 

BOBBY.  (Looking  over  his  shoulder  fiercely)  No, 
you  can't!  Go  'way  from  there!  (DELLA  with 
draws.  He  returns  instantly  to  the  attack  on  CORAJ 
Let  me  tell  you,  if  there's  goin'  to  be  any  mules  in 
this  fam'ly  .  .  . 

CORA.  (Violently)  You  hush  up!  (She  flings 
herself  into  a  chair,  kicking  her  heels  up  and  down 
on  the  floor,  and  repeating)  Hush  up !  Hush 
up! 

BOBBY.  (Indignantly)  I'll  make  w^self  heard! 
You  never  did  have  any  more  idea  of  behavior  than 
the  merest  scum!  Why,  look  at  me  .  .  .  (Glanc 
ing  to  where  DELLA  has  appeared)  why,  I  got  more 
troubles  in  my  private  life  than  people  would  have 
any  conception  of  ...  you  don't  hear  me  howlin' 
around  like  some  frowsy  cuttle-fish,  do  you? 

CORA.     Hush  up! 

BOBBY.  I  tell  you  when  you  attack  this  lady,  that 
soils  her  soul  by  bein'  your  governess,  you  simply 
an*  positively  put  a  stain  on  your  whole  vile  sex ! 

VIOLET.  (Quickly,  crossly)  Bobby!  I  can  do 
my  own  defending,  please,  and  I'm  a  member  of  the 
same  sex. 

BOBBY.  (Vehemently)  No,  you're  not !  I'd  never 
believe  it!  There  may  be  some  women  the  same 
sex  as  Cora,  but  not  you !  It  was  only  the  third  or 
fourth  time  I  ever  saw  you,  a  kind  of  a  somepin' 
came  over  me  and  I  wanted  to  live  a  higher  life. 
(Q>RA  bursts  into  wild  laughter.  He  instantly  whirls 
upon  her,  shouting)  You  hush  up!  What  you 
laughing  about?  I  believe  you're  historical. 

(MRS.  WHEELER  has  entered  up  c.  from  up  R.  dur 
ing  this.    She  speaks  quickly) 


CLARENCE  59 

MRS.  WHEELER.  (Annoyed)  What  is  the  din? 
Really  Miss  Pinney,  if  you  can't  keep  better  order 
than  this  .  .  . 

CORA.  (Jumping  up,  toughing  loudly)  Bobby 
says  a  somepin'  came  over  him  when  he  saw  Vio 
let  ... 

MRS.  WHEELER.  (Quickly)  Yes ;  that's  not  un 
usual,  it  seems ! 

(The  scene  is  played  rather  rapidly.) 

CORA.  (Going  on)  And  he  wants  to  live  a  higher 
life! 

MRS.  WHEELER.    That's  not  always  her  effect ! 

BOBBY.  Well,  what  if  I  do?  That's  no  disgrace, 
is  it  ? 

CORA.  (At  BOBBY,)  I  know  something  on  you! 
(BOBBY  wheels.)  Not  any  higher  life,  either !  (This 
is  a  vicious  threat)  You  wait  till  papa  comes ! 

BOBBY.  If  /  ever  catch  that  Hubert  Stem  around 
this  place  .  .  . 

CORA,  (Choking  at  the  name,  crosses  to  MRS.  W.j 
Oh,  mama !  He  was  here !  (Emotional  again.)  He 
came  to  try  to  see  me !  That  little  brute  of  a  Clar 
ence  drove  him  out ! 

MRS.  WHEELER.    (Incredulously)    Clarence  did? 

VIOLET.    I  take  the  responsibility  for  that ! 

MRS.  WHEELER.  (Loudly)  You  take  a  great  deal 
of  responsibility,  Miss  Pinney! 

BOBBY.  (Hotly)  Well,  papa  wants  her  to, 
doesn't  he? 

MRS.  WHEELER.    (Emphatically)   Yes !  He  does ! 

BOBBY.  Who  else  but  Miss  Pinney  has  any  con 
trol  over  this  .  .  .  this  .  .  .  this  .  .  .  (His  denun 
ciatory  finger  leveling  at  CORA.,) 

CORA.  (Shouting)  I'll  get  you,  Bobby  Wheeler ! 
(She  shouts  "Hush  up!"  throughout  the  following 
speech) 


60  CLARENCE 

BOBBY.  ^Bawling)  I'll  take  that  Hubert  Stem, 
and  I'll  pull  his  legs  and  arms  off  like  a  mere  spider ! 

(WHEELER  enters  up  R.  He  has  just  come  from  his 
office,  and  has  on  his  hat  and  overcoat,  a  folded 
newspaper  is  in  his  hand.  Neither  CORA  nor 
BOBBY  are  aware  of  him.  CORA  continues  to 
shout  "Hush  up!"  and  BOBBY  goes  on) 

BOBBY.  You  threaten  me,  and  I'll  show  you  who's 
master  in  this  house!  You  got  the  worst  disposi 
tion  .  .  . 

(WHEELER  strikes  the  newspaper  several  times, 
quickly  and  sharply,  into  the  palm  of  his  hand 
for  silence,  which  stops  them.  He  is  indignant, 
disgusted  and  tired.) 

WHEELER.  Stop  it,  stop  it !  I  could  hear  you  at 
the  front  door ! 

CORA.  (Goes  to  WHEELER  at  c.)  Papa,  I  found 
out  to-day  Bobby  kissed  Delia,  and  she  says  he's  got 
to  marry  her  or  breach  o'  promise,  an'  she'll  tell  the 
fam'ly  on  him!  Now  he's  in  love  with  Violet! 
(Whirling  on  BOBBY.  Goes  up  R.J  Didn't  think  I 
knew  that,  did  you  ? 

BOBBY.    (Hoarsely)    Cuttle-fish! 

fMRS.  WHEELER  crosses  to  couch  R.I.,  sits.) 

WHEELER.  (Sternly  to  him)  I'll  speak  to  you 
later.  (Taking  off  hat  and  coat.) 

BOBBY.  (Alarmed,  but  vindictive.  Crosses  to 
WHEELER^  Her  grass-widower  was  here  again. 
We  had  to  drive  him  out,  and  she  got  convulsions. 

CORA.  (Beginning  to  wail)  Oh !  (This  sound 
continues.) 

WHEELER.  (Handing  his  hat  and  coat  to  BOBBY, 
decisively)  Take  these  out. 


CLARENCE  61 

BOBBY.  (Bitterly)  I'll  do  it!  (Passes  behind 
WHEELER  and  up  off  R.J 

WHEELER.  Cora,  either  stop  that,  or  go  to  your 
room  and  wash  your  face. 

CORA.  (Going  up  with  extreme  pathos,  weeping) 
Wash  my  face,  wash  my  face,  wash  my  face  .  .  . 

(UP   Off  Rj 

WHEELER.  (  Up  R.C.,  frowning)  I'll  go  over  this 
with,  you,  Miss  Pinney. 

MRS.  WHEELER.  (On  couch  R.  Burlesquing  po 
liteness)  Oh?  With  Miss  Pinney ?  Do  excuse  me! 
It's  so  unusual — your  wanting  to  be  alone  with  her ! 
I  didn't  understand  for  the  moment  you  wished  me 
to  leave  the  room ! 

WHEELER.  (Drearily  and  disgustedly  appealing 
with  a  gesture,  but  not  rising  or  turning  to  her)  Oh, 
please,  Fanny ! 

MRS.  WHEELER.  (Angry,  yet  plaintive)  As  it 
seems  I'm  nothing  in  anybody's  life,  I 

WHEELER.  (Interrupting  sharply)  Oh,  for  pity's 
sake ! 

MRS.  WHEELER.  (Sharply,  breathing  quickly) 
Oh,  I'll  not  interfere  with  this  charming — inter 
view  !  ( Exit  up  c.  to  off  L.) 

(VIOLET  swallows  painfully,  her  lip  quivers;  she 
controls  herself  and  comes1  near  WHEELER,  who 
still  sits  rubbing  his  head.) 

VIOLET.  (In  a  low,  quick  voice)  Mr.  Wheeler, 
I  think  you'll  have  to  relieve  me  of  my  promise. 

WTHEELER.  (Not  changing)  No;  I  can't  do  it. 
(Painfully,  but  as  if  absently.) 

VIOLET.  I  really  think  you'll  have  to.  I  can't  go 
on — I  really  can't. 

WHEELER.  (In  same  manner)  No.  You  said 
you'd  stick  to  the  job  and  see  the  children  through. 
I  can't  depend  on  anybody  but  you.  I've  got  to 
keep  you  to  your  word.  (Slight  emphasis  on  "got!9) 


62  CLARENCE 

VIOLET.  But  it's  getting  beyond  my  strength — 
and  my  temper. 

WHEELER.  I  know.  I  know.  The  children  get 
beyond  your  strength  and  my  wife  gets  beyond  your 
temper (No  pause.) 

VIOLET.  (In  a  low  voice,  affirmatively)  Yes. 
(No  pause.) 

WHEELER.  But  I've  got  to  keep  you.  Sit  down, 
will  you?  (He  begins  to  pace,  across  and  back.) 
Let's  see  if  we  can  think  what's  to  be  done.  Was 
that  man  Stem  here? 

VIOLET.    I  gave  him  your  message. 

WHEELER.  Did  he  try  to  hang  about  and  see 
Cora? 

VIOLET.  He  tried  to  hang  about.  Clarence  got 
rid  of  him. 

WHEELER.  (Musing  absently  and  gloomily)  Odd 
thing  about — Clarence.  I  don't  know  just  why  I 
took  him  up  and  brought  him  out  here.  Crazy  sort 
of  impulse — anything  but  like  me  to  do  that.  He 
seems  all  right,  does  he? 

VIOLET.  Yes,  I  think  so.  (Noncommittal.  Then 
she  bites  her  lip,  remembering  her  enmity.) 

WHEELER.  (Still  absently)  Friendly  sort  of 
friendless  creature.  I  had  a — a  feeling — if  he  could 
drive  an  army  mule  with  such  courtesy — well,  I 
don't  know  just  what  it  was — a  feeling  that  in  some 
way  he'd  be  a  good  influence — here.  (Turning 
toward  her)  Is  Cora's  story  true  about  that  damn 
boy? 

VIOLET.    About  Bobby?    (Pauses.) 

WHEELER.  Oh!  You  don't  want  to  tell  on  him? 
Is  it  his  behavior — that  makes  you  want  to  leave? 

VIOLET.  No.  But  I  think  I  must  go,  Mr. 
Wheeler. 

WHEELER.  Where  would  you  go?  Have  you  a 
chance  at  another  position  ? 

VIOLET.     No. 


CLARENCE  63 

WHEELER.    What  would  you  do? 

VIOLET.    Look  for  one,  I  suppose. 

WHEELER.  (Abruptly)  I  can't  let  you  do  that. 
(She  looks  up,  somewhat  startled  by  his  tone.) 

VIOLET.    What  did  you  say 

WHEELER.  (Swallowing,  speaks  with  sorrowful 
feeling,  simply)  I  said  I  couldn't  let  you  do  that. 
See  here ;  I  suppose  I've  seemed  to  you  just  a  com 
mercial  machine — head  of  a  big  business  and  head 
of  an  unhappy,  rowing  family,  like  so  many  of  us 
machines.  Well,  I'm  not — not  altogether.  (Sits. 
On  couch  R.J  I'm  a  pretty  tired  man.  The  naked 
truth  is  I'm  pretty  tired  of  the  big  business  and 
pretty  tired  of  the  family.  It's  so.  Sometimes  I 
don't  know  whether  I'm  an  old  man  or  just  a  sort  of 
worn-out  boy;  I  only  know  the  game  I  play  isn't 
worth  the  candle,  and  that  I  want  to  get  away  from 
the  whole  thing.  (His  voice  trembles  a  little.)  I 
don't  think  I  could  stay  with  it,  if  you  don't  stay  and 
help  me. 

VIOLET.    (Touched)    Oh,  poor  Mr.  Wheeler ! 

WHEELER.  If  you  give  me  up,  I'll  give  everything 
up.  (His  tone  is  quiet  throughout,  but  he  is  in  deso 
late,  utter  earnest.) 

VIOLET.  (Gentle  but  troubled  and  a  little  breath 
less)  Oh,  I  don't  think  you  should  quite  say  that, 
should  you? 

WHEELER.  I've  never  seen  how  people  could  get 
away  from  the  truth.  I've  got  people  I  can  rely  on 
in  business — but  you're  the  only  person  I  can  fall 
back  on  out  here. 

VIOLET.     Oh,  no! 

WHEELER.  And  a  man's  house  is  more  important 
than  his  business,  too.  What  am  I  going  to  do 
about  it  ? 

VIOLET.  (In  a  low,  troubled  voice)  I — don't 
know.  (She  stands  with  her  head  bent,  turned 
away.  He  is  profoundly  grave.) 


64  CLARENCE 

WHEELER.    If  you  can't  stand  it  here 

VIOLET.     (Feebly,  blankly)    What? 

WHEELER.  (His  voice  husky,  but  somewhat 
louder  than  it  has  been)  If  you  can't  stand  it,  / 
can't !  If  you  quit,  we  both  quit. 

VIOLET.  (Rises,  plaintive)  I  don't  think  I  under 
stand  that.  I'm  free  to  go,  Mr.  Wheeler,  but 

WHEELER.  (Rising.  With  a  kind  of  husky,  but 
not  noisy,  desperation)  Well,  I  can  be  free,  too. 

VIOLET.  (Entirely  taken  aback)  Oh (She 

falls  back  from  him,  her  hand  to  her  cheek,  staring 
at  him.  At  the  same  time  a  long,  strange  wail  is 
heard  up  off  L.  The  two  remain  in  their  present  at 
titudes,  freezing  with  horror.  The  zvail  continues, 
growing  louder.  It  issues  from  the  throat  of  MRS. 
WHEELER,  it  appears.  She  comes  in  from  the  arch 
LV  weeping,  still  wailing.) 

MRS.  WHEELER.  (Her  wail  becoming  verbal)  I 
heard  every  word !  You  needn't  run  away — I'll  go ! 
Drive  me  out ;  /  haven't  got  any  one  to  go  with  me ! 

(Loudly)  Oh,  I'd  take  him  if  I  had!  Oooh 

(The  wail  increases.  She  flings  herself  in  a  chair 

L.C.; 

.  Saxophone. 

WHEELER.  (Desperate,  wailing  himself)  Ah, 
murder!  Who  was  talking  about  going  with  any 
one?  (Another  wailing,  not  unlike  MRS.  WHEELER'S 
in  quality,  is  heard  off  up  R.  It  likewise  approaches, 
though  slowly;  the  two  sounds  mingle)  Oh,  my 
soul!  I  can't  stand  this!  (WHEELER  comes  down. 
To  VIOLET  passionately)  Could  you  stop  Cora  just 
this  once? 

VIOLET.  (Goes  down  RV  sharply)  It  isn't  Cora's 
voice. 

WHEELER.  It's  Cora !  (To  MRS  WHEELER,)  For 
pity's  sake,  Fanny,  pull  yourself  together !  (He 
starts  up  c.,  shouting  fiercely)  Cora!  Stop  it! 
Stop  it !  Cora ! 


CLARENCE  65 

r(DELLA  appears  in  the  sun-room,  walking  backward 
from  off  R.  She  is  in  a  high  state  of  excite 
ment,  lifting  and  dropping  her  arms  in  a  strange 
rhythm,  as  if  keeping  time  to  some  grotesque 
stimulant.  WHEELER,  without  pausing,  shouts 
at  her) 

WHEELER.  Tell  Cora  she's  got  to  stop  it !  Tell 
her  I  say 

DELLA.  (Shouting)  It  ain't  her!  It  ain't  Miss 
Cora !  (Struck  by  this,  and  by  the  peculiar  nature 
of  the  approaching  sound,  WHEELER  falls  back.) 

WHEELER.     What ! 

DELLA.  It's  him!  It's  Mister  Clair'nce  all 
dressed  up  and  wastin'  his  money  on  musical  in 
struments  ! 

WHEELER.  (Hoarsely,  crosses  down  R.)  Oh,  my 
soul! 

(The  sound  has  now  resolved  itself  into  the  loud 
cry  of  a  saxophone  rendering  a  march.  CLAR 
ENCE  marches  on  in  the  sun-room;  he  is  the 
musician.  Behind  him  CORA  prances,  clashing 
the  silver  covers  of  two  dishes  together  for  cym 
bals,  and  loudly  singing  the  air.  Behind  her 
DINWIDDIE  pompously  dances,  beating  a  tray 
with  a  large  spoon,  and  whistling.  This  pro 
cession  evidently  intends  to  move  along  the  sun- 
room  from  off  R.  to  off  L.,  but  is  arrested  by 
WHEELER'S  vehemence.) 

WHEELER.  (Bellowing)  What  in  the  name  of — 
(They  stop;  so  does  the  music.  MRS.  WHEELER 
has  stopped  crying  and  has  risen.) 

DINWIDDIE.      (Alarmed)      Oh!      (He    bolts    to 

off*.) 

WHEELER.    (Gasping)    What  in  the • 

CLARENCE.     (Removing  the  saxophone  from  his 


66  CLARENCE 

mouth)    We  didn't  know  there  was  anybody  here. 

CORA.  (Enthusiastically)  Look  at  him,  papa! 
(CLARENCE  has  made  a  remarkable  change  in  his  ap 
pearance;  he  wears  a  beautifully  fitting  new  suit  of 
exquisite  gray  or  fawn  material,  and  he  has  been  at 
pains  to  brush  his  hair  becomingly;  has  a  scarf-pin 
in  his  tie ;  and  altogether  is  a  most  dashing  figure. 
CORA  goes  on,  without  pausing)  Isn't  he  wonder 
ful,  mama? 

MRS.  WHEELER.  (Seriously  and  emphatically) 
Why,  yes!  He  is! 

CORA.  (Bringing  him  down,  holding  his  sleeve) 
He  went  and  bought  those  (his  clothes)  and  the  most 
glorious  evening  things  all  out  of  what  he  made  in 
the  war,  and  he  borrowed  the  Swede's  saxophone 
and  never  even  told  us  he  could  play  it !  Just  look 
at  him!  Turn  around!  (Obeying  her  gesture, 
made  as  she  speaks,  he  solemnly  turns  round,  so  that 
they  may  see  his  back.  CORA  is  carried  away  by 
helpless  admiration.  She  almost  moans  this;  then 
as  he  faces  front  again)  Oh,  Clarence ! 

(BOBBY  enters  up  L.C.  from  off  up  L.  and  approaches 
CLARENCE.  ) 

CLARENCE.     I'm  afraid  we  disturbed (He 

stops,  meeting  BOBBY'S  estimating  eye.) 

( BOBBY  walks  all  round  him,  CLARENCE'S  eyes  fol 
lowing  him  wonderingly  until  BOBBY  passes  be" 
hind  him.  Then  CLARENCE  looks  over  the  other 
shoulder  as  BOBBY  comes  round  on  that  side.) 

BOBBY.  (Condescendingly)  Pretty  good !  Pretty 
good ! 

CLARENCE.     (Blankly)    What 

BOBBY.  (With  a  gesture  to  mean  the  new  outfit) 
Pretty  good. 


CLARENCE  67 

CORA.  (Vehement)  Nobody  ever  knew  he  could 
play  at  all!  He  never  said  a  thing 

CLARENCE.  (Interrupting  solemnly)  They  trans 
ferred  me  from  the  band  to  the — mule-team. 

CORA.  (Jumping  up  and  down)  Come  on ;  we've 

got  to  play  some  more (She  pulls  at  his  sleeve. 

Takes  CLARENCE  to  piano.)  Come  play  his  accom 
paniment,  Violet. 

VIOLET.  (Controlling  her  agitation,  answers  has 
tily)  No.  I  can't.  (Crosses  R.J 

CLARENCE.  I'm  afraid  we  might  disturb (He 

looks  from  VIOLET  to  WHEELER.,) 

MRS.  WHEELER.  (Sharply)  No,  you  won't  dis 
turb  anybody! 

(WHEELER  comes  down  to  chair  R.J 

CLARENCE.    I'm  afraid — we  might 

MRS.  WHEELER.  (Seriously,  almost  passionately) 
It's  beautiful !  It's  the  most  'beautiful  music  I  ever 
Jieard  in  my  life.  I'll  play  your  accompaniment, 
Clarence.  I'd  adore  to!  (Goes  to  piano.) 

CORA.  (Pulling  him  to  the  piano)  Cm  on!  Cm 
on! 

CLARENCE.     What  is  it? 

CORA.    William  Tell! 

MRS.  WHEELER.     In  B  flat. 

CLARENCE.     Same  old  B  flat. 

(^WHEELER  crosses  to  settee  L.  and  sits.  MRS. 
WHEELER  plays  loudly  upon  the  piano.  CLAR 
ENCE  does  likewise  upon  the  saxophone.) 

BELLA.  (She  has  remained,  hovering  in  the  sun 
parlor.  She  now  edges  into  the  room,  leans  against 
the  balustrade  and  lifts  her  eyes  in  rapture  before 
speaking)  Oh — ain't  it  hivinly ! 


68  CLARENCE 

( CLARENCE  looks  solemnly  round  at  her,  not  ceas 
ing  to  play,  and  turning  his  whole  body  to  keep 
the  instrument  in  position.  WHEELER  also 
looks  at  her,  then  back  at  his  paper.  CLARENCE 
turns  to  the  piano  again.  CORA,  looking  up  at 
him,  sings  the  air,  and  BOBBY,  having  joined 
the  group,  condescendingly  adds  his  voice. 
After  a  moment  or  two,  VIOLET,  who  is  R., 
opens  the  door  R.  and  goes  out.  The  saxophone 
stops  abruptly.  CLARENCE  has  been  watching 
her  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye.) 

CORA.  (With  quick  solicitude)  What's  the  mat 
ter,  Clarence? 

(This  is  as  if  some  illness  threatened   her   only 
child.) 

CLARENCE.  Nothing.  (Solemnly  resumes  play 
ing.) 

CORA.  Oh,  Clarence !  (She  sings  again  and  the 
music  continues.) 

CURTAIN. 


ACT  III 

SCENE:  The  same.  The  lamps  are  lit.  The  cur- 
tains  in  the  sun-room  have  been  pulled  over 
the  glass.  The  doors  R.  are  wide  open. 

DELLA,  R.C.,  is  looking  off  through  these  doors 
in  a  manner  expressing  the  warmest  and  most 
sympathetic  admiration  of  something  she  is 
watching.  She  clasps  her  hands  in  a  Madonna 
gesture  beside  her  cheek,  her  eyes  uplifted. 

DELLA.  (Fondly  muttering)  Ah !  (Pause)  Ah, 
now !  (She  becomes  haughty  and  repellent) 
Whoosh!  (Tosses  her  head  and  moves  slowly  to 
R.C.; 

(The  cause  of  her  change  of  manner  is  the  approach 
of  DINWIDDIE.  He  comes  in  RV  dressed  for 
dinner  service,  with  a  silver  tray,  silver  coffee 
pot  and  sugar,  cups  and  saucers.  He  looks 
sternly  at  DELLA,  then  takes  the  tray  to  a  table. 
She  again  looks  off  through  the  door  R.  from 
her  position  c.,  and  resumes  her  fond  gesticula 
tions.  DINWIDDIE  looks  at  her  several  times 
with  extreme  disapproval;  then  he  looks  in 
tently  at  the  ceiling.) 

DINWIDDIE.  (DELLA  turns  in  contempt  to  DIN 
WIDDIE.  DINWIDDIE  addressing  the  ceiling)  I  don't 
speak  to  no  one  here  present,  but  if  they  was  a  little 
bird  I  could  see  up  there  in  the  sky 


70  CLARENCE 

DELLA.  (Interrupting,  plausibly)  In  the  sky? 
It's  the  ceiling.  Even  if  you  was  outdoors,  it's  dark 
an'  you  couldn't  see  no  birds. 

DINWIDDIE.  (Persisting)  If  they  was  a  little 
bird  up  there — (Looks  at  her,  then  up  again) — I 
would  speak  to  him  and  I  would  say:  (Coldly) 
Bird,  the  fam'ly  is  comin'  out  from  dinner  in  a  min 
ute  or  so,  an'  this  ain't  no  place  fer  domestics  of 
smirched  reputations.  (Puts  tray  on  table  L.C. 
Concludes  looking  at  her.) 

DELLA.     You  better  run  then! 

DJNWIDDIE.     (Sternly)    I  am  as  pure  .  .  . 

DELLA.  Are  ye  talkin'  t'  the  bird?  (He  utters  a 
sound  of  pain  and  fiercely  arranges  the  tray.  She 
responds  with  a  short  laugh,  and  resumes  her  admir 
ing  interest  of  off  R.,  going  on  rapturously)  You 
can  see  right  through  t'  the  dining-room.  From 
here  you  can  see  him  eatin' — just  as  plain !  (She 
indicates  her  joyous  contempt  of  this  measure  by 
the  briefest  sketch  of  an  undignified  dance.) 

DINWIDDIE.     Sickening ! 

DELLA.     (Jeeringly)    Speakin'  to  me? 

DINWIDDIE.  (Lifting  his  eyes)  I'm  speaking  to 
the  bird ! 

DELLA.  (Runs  across,  opens  one  of  the  doors 
slightly,  looks  through  and  becomes  rapturous 
again)  He's  eatin'  his  dessert! 

DINWIDDIE.  (Explosively)  Who  is  this  Clair- 
'nce?  Nobody  knows!  (Still  looking  up)  Nobody 
knows  a  thing  about  him — not  a  thing ! 

DELLA.  (Unheeding,  clasping  her  hands  in  soft 
rapture)  He  eats  so  pritty ! 

DINWIDDIE.  (Fiercely,  looking  at  her)  Oh,  my 

Guh (He  catches  himself  in  the  middle  of  the 

word,  looks  "up,  and  without  pausing,  goes  on)  OJi, 
bird! 

(BOBBY,  in  his  dinner  clothes,  hastily  enters  R.,  he 
has  a  cautious  manner,  yet  nervous  and  quick.) 


CLARENCE  71 

BOBBY.  (To  DINWIDDIEJ  D'ju  take  Miss  Pin- 
ney's  dinner  up  to  her  room  for  her? 

DINWIDDIE.     She  sent  word  she  didn't  wish  any. 

BOBBY.     (Crosses  to  DINWIDDIE,)     Mamma  says 
for  you  to  go  up  and  ask  her  from  her  if  she  won't 
please  come  down  here  as  a  favor. 
('DINWIDDIE  exits  L.) 

DELLA.  (Looking  off  R.)  You  could  never  be 
lieve  it ! 

BOBBY.     (Suspiciously)     Believe  what? 

DELLA.  That  Mr.  Clarence  used  to  be  a  wash 
room  man  in  a  hotel.  Of  course,  there's  tips.  .  .^ . 

BOBBY.  (Incredulous)  You  say  he  worked  in 
a  hotel  lavatory? 

DELLA.     He  told  me  so. 

BOBBY.  Why,  that's  horrible !  The  f am'ly  ought 
to  know  about  this. 

DELLA.     Little  Ainjill!     (Looking  R.J 

BOBBY.  Now,  see  here!  I  don't  want  any  en- 
dearmalents  from  you.  All  that  was  mere  sensu- 
osity  on  my  part,  and  nothing  permanent  at  all.  If 
you  come  around  here  callin'  me  "angel"  .  .  . 

DELLA.     (Exclaiming  in  denial)    Oh,  bird! 

BOBBY.  I'm  tired  of  all  this  blackmail;  the 
fam'ly  know  about  it,  anyhow.  You  can't  call  me 
"bird"  nor  "angel"  nor  ... 

DELLA.  (With  a  wan  laugh)  I  didn't  mean  you, 
Mister  Robert !  (She  is  looking  off  R .) 

BOBBY.  (Staggered)  Who  did  you  mean  ?  (Ear 
nestly,  with  an  inspiration  after  a  glance  over  his 
shoulder  to  R.)  Did  you  mean  Clarence  f 

DELLA.     (Dreamily)    Oh,  yes! 

BOBBY.  (Earnestly)  Well,  if  he's  taken  this 
burden  onto  himself  off  o'  my  shoulders  he's  done 
some  good  if  he  was  a  lavatory  porter !  After  usin' 
these  terms  over  another  man,  you  can't  dogmatize 
me  any  more! 


72  CLARENCE 

DELLA.  (With  a  sweet,  dreamy  look)  All  but 
the  most  willin'  thoughts  has  gone  out  o'  my  mind. 
(Goes  up.) 

BOBBY.  Well,  that's  a  relief  to  me,  whatever  you 
mean. 

fViOLET  enters  Lv  wearing  the  same  dress  seen  in 
the  second  act.    Her  expression  is  serious.) 

VIOLET.  (Quickly,  as  she  enters)  Mrs.  Wheeler 
sent  for  me. 

(Exit  DELLA  up  c.  to  off  R.J 

BOBBY.  (Instantly)  Oh,  Violet !  (This  is  in  a 
voice  of  dreamy  inexpressibleness,  but  is  spoken 
quickly.  He  starts  toward  her)  Oh,  Vio  .  .  . 

(He  is  checked  by  MRS.  WHEELER'S  entrance  R.  She 
is  in  a  handsome  evening  gown  with  jewels, 
camelias  in  her  corsage;  a  pretty  evening  scarf 
over  her  shoulders,  a  fan  in  her  hand.  She 
looks  radiant!  Comes  in  briskly  and  speaks 
quickly.) 

MRS.  W.  (As  she  enters)  Run  away  a  minute, 
Bobby,  please.  fBoBBY  goes  out  R.  quickly.  MRS. 
W.  stands  R.c.  near  the  coffee  table,  smiling  graci 
ously,  and  going  on  at  once)  Miss  Pinney,  I'm  go 
ing1  to  be  very  direct.  I  want  you  to  forget  that 
little  scene  this  afternoon  if  you  will. 

VIOLET.  (Standing  by  a  couch  L.C.,  her  hands 
moving  slightly  upon  the  top  of  the  back  of  it,  her 
eyes  cast  down)  I'm  afraid  I  can  hardly  do  that, 
Mrs.  Wheeler. 

MRS.  W.  (Coming  to  couch — amiably)  Mr. 
Wheeler  is  rather  worn  out,  and  he  forgot  himself 
for  a  moment  and  said  things  he  didn't  mean — -and — • 


CLARENCE  73 

(Bus.  sits  on  couch  with  a  little  laugh.  VIOLET  sits 
R.  end  of  couch) — so,  perhaps,  did  I,  I'm  afraid. 
You  said  nothing  at  all  that  I  could  object  to. 
That's  all  there  was  of  it.  Somehow  everything 
seems  so  much  cheerfuller  in  this  'house,  this  eve 
ning,  than  it  has  for  a  long  time.  I've  told  my  hus 
band  that  I'm  not  in  the  least  angry  with  him — why 
should  I  be?  I  hope  we're  all  going  to  be — hap 
pier,  we  all  need  something  in  our  lives.  And  about 
this  afternoon,  well,  it  was  a  mistake;  that's  all — 
suppose  we  just  pass  it  over? 

VIOLET.  (Profoundly  perplexed)  I'm  afraid 
I (Rises,  goes  TSL.) 

MRS.  W.  (Cheerfully,  goes  behind  table  c.)  Tut, 
tut,  now !  Now,  please,  you  wouldn't  have  any  din 
ner  ;  you'll  at  least  have  your  coffee  ? 

VIOLET.     (At  c.)    I  ... 

MRS.  W.  I'm  sure  you  will,  just  to  please  your 
friends,  we're  all  friends  this  evening.  (Calling) 
Come  back,  Bobby !  (She  pours  the  coffee.  BOBBY 
appears  in  the  doorway  R.  At  R.  of  couch.  Nod 
ding  gaily)  Tell  them  their  coffee's  getting  cold. 
Take  this  to  Miss  Pinney,  dear,  f  BOBBY  takes  the 
cup  of  coffee  she  hands  him  to  VIOLET,  who  accepts 
it  perplexedly  and  both  sit  R.  MRS.  WHEELER,  pour 
ing  other  cups,  calls  to  off  R.j  Aren't  you  coming? 
^WHEELER,  in  dinner  clothes,  very  serious,  enters 
R,,  smoking  a  cigar  just  lit.  MRS.  WHEELER  ad 
dresses  him  amiably)  Come  in,  poor,  dear  man! 
Here !  (She  gives  him  a  cup)  Go  and  sit  by  poor 
Miss  Pinney  and  cheer  her  up.  (Goes  on  pouring, 
not  looking  up.) 

WHEELER.  (Going  to  MRS.  W.,  L.  Heavily  em 
barrassed)  Thanks.  I'm  smoking — I'll — u'h 

(Goes  up  to  sun-room.  BOBBY  sits  by  VIOLET.) 

MRS.  W.     (Beamingly  to  R.J     Waiting  for  you. 

enters  R.     She  is  in  a  very  pretty  evening 


74  CLARENCE 

dress  appropriate  to  her  age;  and  her  expres 
sion  is  wanly  solemn.  She  comes  in  slowly, 
halts  just  in  the  room  and  sighs  inaudibly  but 
not  visibly,  as  she  opens  her  mouth  to  do  it. 
This  is  facing  front;  then  she  looks  R.) 

CORA.  (Crosses  L.  In  an  earnest,  solicitous,  sol 
emn  voice)  Aren't  you  coming-  in  here,  Clarence? 
CLARENCE.  (Door  R.  Entering  R.)  Yes,  oh, 
yes.  (He  wears  new  dinner  clothes,  has  a  camelia 
in  his  button-hole.  He  is  somewhat  apprehensive) 
Oh,  thank  you !  (Speaking  across  the  room)  Good 
evening,  Miss  Pinney.  (She  nods  slightly)  I'm 
sorry  to  hear  you  had  a  headache.  (She  acknowl 
edges  this  faintly)  I  hope  it's  very  much  better. 
...  I  hope  you  haven't  any  at  all  by  this  time.  I 
hope  .  .  .  (Starts  to  sit  by  Miss  PINNEY  at  R.) 

CORA.  (Reprovingly,  in  a  hushed  voice,  solemnly, 
huskily)  Let's  sit  down.  Let's  sit  down  here,  Clar 
ence.  (Divan  L.C.) 

CLARENCE.  (Crosses  to  couch  L.)  Oh,  yes, 
thanks.  (He  sits  upon  the  R.  side  of  divan,  facing 
front.  CORA  sits  exactly  at  the  same  time  he  does, 
to  L.  of  him,  facing  him,  her  profile  to  front,  her  el 
bow  on  the  back  of  the  divan,  her  hand  to  her  cheek. 
MRS.  WHEELER  puts  a  cup  and  saucer  in  his  hand, 
smiling  benevolently.) 

MRS.  W.  (Gently)  There,  Clarence.  Is  it 
right  ? 

CLARENCE.     Thanks. 

CORA.  (Not  moving,  speaks  sacredly)  He  takes 
one  lump  in  the  evening,  Mamma.  He  takes  two 
in  the  morning.  He  told  me  so,  himself.  Didn't 
you,  Clarence? 

CLARENCE.     Yes. 

MRS.  W.  (Putting  a  lump  of  sugar  in  C.'s  cup. 
gently)  Is  this  right,  Clarence? 

CORA.    Yes-  Mamma. 


CLARENCE  75 

CLARENCE.  Thanks.  I'm  sorry  Miss  Pinney's 
headache  .  .  . 

CORA.  (Dreamily)  Oh,  Clarence!  (He  turns 
to  look  at  CORA.  Her  fixed  look  at  him  is  embar 
rassing.) 

CLARENCE.  (Solicitously  to  CORAJ  Mayn't  I 
give  you  some  coffee? 

CORA.     (Unchanging)    No.    No.    No  coffee. 

(To  avoid  her  gaze,  he  turns  and  smiles  feebly  to 

MRS.  WHEELER.  Her  instantly  responsive  smile 

is  such  that  his  own  fades,  and  he  looks  for 
ward  blankly.) 

MRS.  W.  (Smiling  solicitously)  Is  there  any 
thing  you  want,  Clarence? 

CLARENCE.     Oh,  no! 

BOBBY.  (L.  near  VIOLET^  I  expect  he'd  like 
Cora  to  quit  lookin'  at  him.  (Speaks  slowly  and 
with  calm  bitterness.  There  is  a  pause.  Then,  ear 
nestly  marveling,  he  adds  to  VIOLET J  My  goodness, 
she  didn't  even  try  to  make  any  repartee!  ^ 

CORA.  (Unchanging,  in  a  monotone  throughout) 
Clarence?  Clarence?  (He  looks  at  her;  he  has 
been  trying  to  look  at  VIOLET )  Clarence,  aren't 
you  going  to  play  some  more  for  us  ?  I  want  you  to 
play.  I  want  you  to  play  right  away.  (Still  un 
changing)  Bobby,  run  up  to  Clarence's  room  and 
get  his  saxophone  for  him. 

BOBBY.     (Calmly  but  doggedly)    I  will  not. 

('WHEELER  goes  to  table  and  MRS.  W.  takes  cup.) 

CORA.  ^  (Unchanging  except  for  the  slightest  note 
of  plaintiveness)  Papa,  won't  you  please  go  get 
his  saxophone  for  him  ? 

WHEELER.  (Up  c.  Mildly  incredulous)  What 
did  you  say  ? 


76  CLARENCE 

MRS.  W.     (Amiably)    Do,  Henry. 

WHEELER.  (Coming  down  a  little  way)  Do 
what? 

MRS.  W.  (Pleasantly)  Won't  you  go  and  get 
Clarence's  sax 

CLARENCE.  (Coughing  hastily)  Oh,  no,  no!  I 
don't  think  I  play  really  at  all  well. 

^WHEELER  turns  up  again.) 

CORA.  Then  if  you  won't  play,  will  you  answer 
me  one  question,  Clarence? 

CLARENCE.  (A  little  suspicious)  What  is  the 
question  ? 

CORA.  (Wistfully)  It's  simply,  Clarence,  what 
was  the  matter  with  your  liver? 

CLARENCE.  If  I  'answer  you  this  time,  will  you 
promise  never  to  ask  me  again? 

CORA.  (Quickly)  Yes.  What  was  the  matter 
with  your  liver,  Clarence? 

CLARENCE.     I  was  shot  in  it ! 

MRS.  W.  (With  eager  loudness)  At  Chateau 
Thierry  ? 

CLARENCE.  (Explosively,  his  voice  breaking  with 
protest)  No !  At  target  practice ! 

(MR.  WHEELER  sits  up  L.  in  armchair.) 

CORA.  (After  a  pause)  What  else  did  you  do 
that  was  heroic,  Clarence? 

CLARENCE.     (Despairingly)    I  'beg  your  pardon? 

CORA.  What  was  the  next  thing  you  did  in  the 
war? 

CLARENCE.  That  was  the  last  thing  I  did.  I 
didn't  do  any  more  after  that. 

CORA.  (Unable  to  express  her  dreamy  wistful- 
ness)  Oh,  Clarence! 

(He  sighs  and  sets  his  cup  on  the  table.     BOBBY 
rises f  crosses  and  puts  cup  on  table.) 


CLARENCE  77 

BOBBY.  Has  Hubert  Stem  been  telephoning  or 
anything  this  evening,  Cora?  (Apparently  casual.) 

CORA.  (Not  looking  at  him,  speaks  carelessly) 
Who? 

BOBBY.    That  ole  grass-widower  Stem. 

CORA.  (Vaguely)  "Stem?"  (As  if  the  name 
were  unknown)  What  about  him?  (Impulsively, 
BOBBY  crosses  to  R .)  Clarence,  you  must  have  been 
standing  somewhere  in  the  way  of  the  target! 

CLARENCE.  I  heard — afterwards — that  I  had 
been. 

MRS.  W.  (Cheerfully  to  him)  Sha'n't  we  all  go 
and  see  if  it's  moonlight  on  the  veranda,  Clarence? 
(Rises.  WHEELER  notices  this  with  surprised  an 
noyance.) 

CLARENCE.  (Blankly)  I  should  be  delighted. 
(Rises,  preparing  to  go.  WHEELER  comes  down  a 
little.) 

CORA.  (Dreamily)  No.  Let's  stay  just  like 
this. 

MRS.  W.  (In  an  ordinary,  pleasant  tone)  Yes. 
It's  lovely  here.  I  suppose  moonlight  is  in  one's 
heart,  after  all  ...  in  any  heart  that's  found  some 
thing  to  put  moonlight  about.  ("WHEELER  comes 
down,  by  piano)  That's  the  hard  thing:  to  find 
someone  to  pour  moonlight  out  on.  But  when  you 
do,  it  doesn't  matter  where  you  are.  Don't  you 
think  that's  true,  Clarence? 

CLARENCE.  (After  a  somewhat  disturbed  glance 
at  WHEELER )  I'm  sure  it  must  be. 

CORA.  Clarence,  I  do  want  you  to  play  again. 
Papa,  won't  you  please  run  and  get  .  .  . 

CLARENCE.  (Hastily)  I  really  don't  think  I 
should.  You  see,  it's  only  an  accident  that  I  ever 
knew  how  to  play  at  all.  ^WHEELER  is  down.) 

WHEELER.  (Drily)  How  was  that?  How  could 
you  learn  to  play  the  saxophone  by  accident? 

CLARENCE.    Why,  we  used  to  see  whether  certain 


78  CLARENCE 

species  of  beetles  found  in  Montana  are  deaf,  or  if 
they  respond  to  peculiar  musical  vibrations. 

(BOBBY  rises,  and  comes  down,  he  and  WHEELER 
glance  at  each  other.) 

CORA.  (Dreamily)  Beetles!  How  wonderful! 
How  could  you  tell  if  the  beetles  responded  to  the 
vibrations? 

CLARENCE.  We  placed  them  in  a  dish  filled  with 
food,  that  they  were  passionately  fond  of,  and  then 
I  played  to  them.  If  they  climbed  out  of  the  dish 
and  left  this  food  and  went  away  we  knew  they'd 
heard  the  music. 

BOBBY.  (Rises,  very  serious)  Are  the  hotels 
good  out  in  Montana?  (He  has  risen  on  CLAR 
ENCE'S  speech.) 

CLARENCE.  I  don't  know.  I  was  living  in  a 
tent. 

WHEELER.     (Drily)     Hunting  those  beetles? 

CLARENCE.     Yes.     They  live  outdoors. 

BOBBY.  (Staring)  And  you  were  playing  the 
saxophone  to  'em? 

CLARENCE.  Yes.  Hours  and  hours  at  a  time — 
to  the  deaf  ones.  It  got  very  tedious. 

^WHEELER  and  BOBBY  mark  this  as  another  incred 
ible  statement.) 

CORA.     I  wish  I'd  been  one. 

BOBBY.  (Huskily)  You  wouldn't  haf  to  change 
much! 

CORA.  Were  there  any  cannibals  in  Montana, 
Clarence  ? 

f  WHEELER  looks  from  CORA  to  CLARENCE.; 

CLARENCE.  (Mystified)  No.  Almost  every 
thing  else  but  no  cannibals. 


CLARENCE  79 

WHEELER.  (To  CORA,  severely)  What  do  you 
mean?  Cannibals  in  Montana? 

CORA.  (To  all,  casually)  You  know  he  was 
brought  up  by  the  cannibals. 

WHEELER.     (Gravely  incredulous)    He  was? 

CORA.  (Going  on  quickly)  And  they  never  tried 
to  eat  him  or  his  family.  He  told  me  the  first  time 
we  met  him.  They  tried  to  eat  almost  everybody 
else,  but  they  never  tried  to  eat  him  or  his  family. 
Did  they,  Clarence  ? 

(T30BBY  and  WHEELER  turn  up  to  the  sun-room;  dis 
appear  thence  to  off  L.    Exit.) 

CLARENCE.  No !  But  that  wasn^t  precisely  what 
I  intended  to  convey  to  your  mind ! 

CORA.  (With  gentle  reproach)  It  was  that  day 

in  Papa's  office,  Clarence,  you  said  the  cannibals 

( She  is  interrupted,  to  the  mystification  of  herself; 
MRS.  WHEELER  and  CLARENCE,  by  VIOLET,  who 
breaks  into  irrepressible  laughter.  They  look  at  hert 
and  CLARENCE  rises.) 

MRS.  WHEELER.  (Staring  in  surprise)  Miss 
Pinney!  (CLARENCE  walks  across  and  looks  sol 
emnly  at  her:  then  he  looks  at  MRS.  W.,  then  back 
at  VIOLET,  who  rises,  trying  to  control  her  mirthf 
but  not  succeeding)  Is  she  hysterical? 

VIOLET.     I'm  not  hysterical ! 

CLARENCE.  (Gravely,  to  MRS.  WHEELER,)  She 
says  not. 

VIOLET.  (Turning  from  him,  still  out  of  con 
trol)  Please  go  away !  (He  takes  a  step  back,  ut 
terly  mystified.) 

CORA.  (Rising,  incredulous  and  indignant)  Is 
she  laughing  at  Clarence? 

VIOLET.  (Protesting  almost  hysterically)  Oh, 
never!  Never!  I  could  never  do  anything  like 
that! 


&>  CLARENCE 

MRS.  W.  (Going  c.,  smiling)  It  might  be  tact 
ful  of  us  'to  go  and  see  if  it  really  is  moonlight  on 
the  veranda,  don't  you  think  so?  (To  CLARENCE.^ 

CORA.  (Quickly  and  decidedly,  as  she  goes  up) 
I'm  coming,  too,  Mamma ! 

MRS.  W.  (Drily)  Of  course,  dear.  (Smiling 
and  extending  her  hand  toward  CLARENCE,)  Aren't 
you  coming  ? 

CLARENCE.  (Blankly)  Oh— thanks (He 

goes  up;  each  takes  one  of  his  arms.) 

MRS.  W.     (Happily)    It  is  moonlight  out  there ! 

CORA.  (Leaning  back  to  look  at  him  better)  Oh, 
Clarence!  (This  is  always  quiet  and  wistful.) 

CLARENCE.  (Hurriedly)  That  reminds  me; 
something  I  forgot (Detaching  himself.) 

MRS.  W.     (Quickly)    We'll  send  and  get  it. 

CLARENCE.  Well,  in  fact,  it's  something  I  forgot 
to  a'sk  Miss  Pinney.  I'll  come  in  just  a  moment. 

MRS.  W.  (Amiably,  a  little  bothered,  going)  Oh, 
of  course. 

(Exit  up  L.    CLARENCE  starts  down.) 

CORA.     (Going)    Not  a  long  moment? 

CLARENCE.  (Reassuringly,  stopping)  No,  no. 
(Exit  CORA  up  L.,  giving  him  a  wistful  final  look. 
CLARENCE  turns  to  VIOLET )  Of  course  when  you 
told  me  to  go  away 

VIOLET.  (Interrupting)  That's  why  you— 
didn't? 

CLARENCE.  Well,  of  course  when  a  lady  declines 
to  eat  her  dinner  on  account  of  a  headache,  and  then 
laughs  at  you  out  of  a  clear  sky  and  tells  you  to  go 
away,  why — no In  fact — you  don't! 

VIOLET.  You  mean  you  stayed  because  you're 
curious  about  why  I  laughed.  (Half  question,  half 
assertion.) 

CLARENCE.     No.    I  just  mean  I  stayed. 

VIOLET.     (Looking  up  at  him  with  hidden  amuse- 


CLARENCE  8l 

went)    Don't  you  want  to  know  why  I  laughed? 

CLARENCE.  (Uneasily)  Fm  not  sure!  I'm  not 
at  all  sure  I  do;  people  aren't  usually  made  much 
cheerfuller  by  finding  out  why  other  people  laugh 
at  them ! 

VIOLET.  (With  an  inclination  of  her  head  to- 
ward  up  L.j  You  told  them  you  had  a  question  to 
ask  me.  (Gravely)  You  oughtn't  to  keep  them 
waiting. 

CLARENCE.  A  question?  Yes.  You  said  this 
afternoon  we  couldn't  be  friends  any  more.  My 
question  is:  if  that  wasn't  just  an  afternoon  rule 
that  we  could  consider  not  operating  in  the  evening. 

VIOLET.     Hardly ! 

CLARENCE.     Couldn't  ? 

VIOLET.  It  was  on  account  of  what  you  said  this 
afternoon  that  I  laughed  at  you  this  evening.  (In 
a  lower  voice,  turning  from  him)  You  have  so 
many  to  think  of,  you  know ! 

CLARENCE.     (Puzzled)    I?    To  "think"  of ! 

VIOLET.  (With  indignant  amusement)  Doesn't 
it  seem  rather  funny,  even  to  you :  your  giving  me 
that  little  lecture  this  afternoon  about  the  people 
that  you  said  wanted  me  to  "think"  of  them? 

CLARENCE.  (Enlightened)  Oh,  you  mean  when 
I  said  I  wanted  you  to  think  of  me! 

VIOLET.     (Scornfully)    Oh ! 

CLARENCE.  You  mean  you  got  to  thinking  about 
that  this  evening,  and  that's  what  made  you  laugh. 
You  thought  it  was  so  funny  my  wanting  you  to 
think  of  me. 

VIOLET.  (Gaily)  No ;  I  thought  it  was  so  funny 
your  giving  me  that  lecture;  you  see,  you  seem  to 
have  so  many  to  think  of  that  I  don't  want  you  to 
think  of  me! 

CLARENCE.  (Earnestly)  I'd  like  to  do  what  you 
want :  I  don't  know.  I  don't  know  whether  it  could 
be  stopped  or  not.  A  person  goes  around  thinking 


82  CLARENCE 

-^~it  wouldn't  make  any  noise,  just  thinking.  It 
needn't  disturb  you  at  all. 

VIOLET.  (With  scornful  amusement)  I  think 
you'll  be  able  to  stop  it. 

CLARENCE.  (Plaintively)  But  it's  the  only  pleas 
ant  thing-  I  do ! 

VIOLET.     (Scornfully)     Oh ! 

CLARENCE.  (Going  on  plaintively)  It  seems  un 
reasonable  to  be  asked  to  give  it  up.  I'd  even  rather 
give  up  my  music ! 

VIOLET.  (Emphatically)  Oh,  believe  me !  That, 
you'll  not  be  allowed  to  give  up ! 

CLARENCE.  (Apprehensively)  Don't  you  think 
I  will?  I  don't  think  Mr.  Wheeler  cares  for  it  par 
ticularly. 

VIOLET.  Neither  do  I ;  but  I'm  sure  you'll  have 
to  keep  on  with  it,  that  and  your  wonderful  stories 
about  beetles  and 

CLARENCE.  (Interrupting)  Those  weren't  sto 
ries  ;  it  was  perfectly  true. 

VIOLET.  (With  feeling)  I  hope  it  was  truer  than 
what  you  said  to  me  this  afternoon,  when  you — 
when  you  thought  fit  to  bring — to  bring  Mr.  Wheel 
er's  name  into  your  lecture. 

CLARENCE.  I  only  meant  to — well,  I  thought  a 
friendly  warning  might 

VIOLET.  (Smouldering)  You  meant  that  this — 
friendliness — to  me  was  troubling  his  wife.  (In 
dignantly  and  pathetically)  As  if  I  could — help 

CLARENCE.     If  you  cried — I — couldn't  stand  it! 

VIOLET.  (Going  on  brokenly)  As  if  I — knew 
which  way — to  turn — or  what  to  do 

CLARENCE.     If  you  cry  I'll  do  something  queer ! 

VIOLET.  (Her  indignation  getting  the  better  of 
pathos)  I  sha'n't  cry !  I  only  want  you  to  imagine 
that  Mrs.  Wheeler's — friendliness — to  you — had  al 
ready  begun  to  attract  her  husband's  attention — and 
to  annoy  him ! 


CLARENCE  83 

CLARENCE.  (Somewhat  stiffly)  Ordinarily  I'd 
want  to  imagine  anything  you  wanted  me  to  imag 
ine,  but  I  could  hardly  imagine  that! 

VIOLET.     No?    You  couldn't? 

CLARENCE.     (More  stiffly)    Certainly  not! 

('BOBBY  enters  quickly  up  c.  from  off  L.) 

VIOLET.  (Seeing  him)  I  think  you're  wanted! 
(Significantly.) 

CLARENCE.     (Stiffly)    I  teg  your  pardon. 

VIOLET.  (More  significantly)  I  think  you're 
•sent  for. 

( CLARENCE  turns,  following  her  glance,  and  sees 

BOBBYj 

BOBBY.  (Very  serious)  Mama  wants  to  know 
how  long  before  you're  coming. 

CLARENCE.     (Bothered)    Ah — does  she? 

BOBBY.     So  does  Cora. 

VIOLET.  (Quietly)  You  mustn't  keep  them 
waiting.  (CLARENCE  looks  at  her  coldly.) 

BOBBY.  (Coming  down)  There's  just  one  thing 
I  want  to  say.  I  don't  mind  speakin'  of  it  before 
Miss  Pinney  because  I  already  told  her  all  the  worst 
in  my  nature,  and  it's  better  to  be  above-board  any 
how,  isn't  it? 

VIOLET.  (Looking  at  CLARENCE,)  Yes.  /  think 
it  is. 

CLARENCE.     (Sharply)    Why,  certainly  it  is ! 

BOBBY.  Well,  it's  just  this:  I  might  of  paid 
mighty  dear  for  a  mere  imprudence,  if  Delia  hadn't 
got  the  way  she  is  over  you,  Clarence. 

CLARENCE.    Delia? 

BOBBY.  Whatever  happens  to  you,  I  want  to 
thank  you  for  that. 

CLARENCE.  (Astounded)  Thank  me  for — for 
the  way — Delia — "is — over  me"? 


84  CLARENCE 

BOBBY.  That's  practically  all  I  had  to  say. 
Whatever  it  is  about  you  that's  got  Mama  and 
Cora  so  upset,  why  Delia  acts  just  about  the  same 
as  they  do  and  it's  certainly  a  great  relief  to  me! 
So  now  I've  thanked  you,  and  it's  pretty  cold  out 

on  that  veranda,  and  they  told  me  to  say (He 

is  interrupted  by  CORA,  who  has  just  come  on  from 
up  L.  and  stands  up  c.    She  wears  a  wrap.) 

CORA.  (Sweetly  plaintive)  Clarence,  Mama 
says  maybe  you  don't  want  to  come 

CLARENCE.  (Desperately — crosses  L.)  Miss  Pin- 
ney 

VIOLET.  They're  waiting  for  you!  (Crosses  L. 
up  to  L.  of  table.  He  gives  her  an  indignant  look.) 

CORA.  (Dreamily)  Aren't  you  coming,  Clar 
ence? 

CLARENCE.  {In  an  agonised  voice)  Oh,  yes ; 
thanks !  (He  goes  up  to  her.) 

READY  WHEELER 

CORA.  (Cosily  as  they  move  L.J  You  like  us 
all,  don't  you,  Clarence? 

(Exeunt  up  L.) 

BOBBY.  (After  a  glance  at  this  departure)  It's 
just  as  well  for  you,  you  didn't  come  down  to  din 
ner;  you  could  hardly  eaten  any  anyway,  the  way 
Cora  was  sayin',  "Oh,  Clarence!"  and  Mamma  al- 
most  as  terrible.  I  and  Father  hardly  could,  our 
selves  ! 

VIOLET.  (With  amused  distaste)  And  you  say 
Delia (Turns  down  to  BOBBY.) 

BOBBY.  I  caught  her  callin'  him  an  angel.  Oh, 
not  to  him ;  but  she  can't  hamper  my  career  after 
that!  She  says  he  told  her  he  used  to  work  in  a 
hotel  wash-room 

VIOLET.     ( Not  believing  it)     Oh,  no. 

BOBBY.  Well,  anyway,  it's  only  'another  of  his 
stories  about  himself.  Look,  whenever  he  says  any- 


CLARENCE  85 

thing  about  himself  it's  somp'n  a  body  can  hardly 
believe,  or  else  disgraceful  like  that.  I  and  Father 
been  havin'  a  talk  about  him  and  we  both  think  it'll 
be  better  if  you  don't  have  any  more  to  do  with  him, 
Violet. 

VIOLET.    Why? 

BOBBY.  Look;  the  way  /  look  at  it  is  simply; 
well,  simply  look  at  the  way  Cora  and  Mama  and 
Delia  are!  Look,  you  don't  want  to  get  like  that; 
you  got  an  awful  high  nature.  It  brings  out  all  the 
most  spirichul  things  I  got  in  me,  and  we  think  this  is 
gettin'  to  be  a  serious  matter. 

VIOLET.     (Puzzled)    Clarence  is  ? 

BOBBY.  (Even  more  earnestly)  Look;  don't 
even  let  him  talk  to  you.  (Casually)  Course  we 
don't  feel  it  makes  so  much  difference  about  Cora 
and  Mamma — (Becoming  earnest  again) — but  with 
your  spirichul  nature,  Violet,  and  all  this  and  that, 
•and  he  telling  about  these  Montana  beetles,  and 
them  listening  to  a  saxophone,  and  being  brought  up 
by  cannibals,  and  this  mule  story  without  bad  lan 
guage,  and  then  workin'  in  a  hotel  lavatory — 
7 WHEELER  enters  up  c.  from  off  L.  BOBBY  and 
VIOLET  do  not  see  him) — and  all  thus  and  so,  why, 
we  think  it's  time  somep'n'll  haf  to  be  done  about 
it! 

VIOLET.     What  like  ?    (Somewhat  troubled.) 

BOBBY.     Well,  I  and  Father 

WHEELER.  (Up  c.  interrupting)  Never  mind, 
Bobby.  (VIOLET  moves  to  go  out)  Please,  Miss 
Pinney (Coming  down  c.  This  detains  her.) 

BOBBY.  (Sits)  I  guess  we  better  talk  it  over 
frankly,  now  we're  all  three  here. 

WHEELER.  (Gives  him  a  thoughtful  glance)  No. 
I'm  going  to  ask  you  to  step  out  for  a  moment, 
Bobby. 

BOBBY.  (Getting  up,  gravely  surprised)  Me? 
Well,  all  right.  I  only  want  to  say  just  one  thing, 


86  CLARENCE 

listen:  When  my  own  son  rs  practically  a  grown 
man,  I  think  I  shall  know  how  to  value  him !  ( Exit 
coldly  cxj 

VIOLET.  (In  a  low  voice — goes  to  WHEELER,) 
What  is  it  about,  Clarence? 

WHEELER.  (Much  troubled,  but  quiet)  Just  a 
moment.  I  see  now  that  whatever  I  decide  to  do 
witfo  my  own  life,  I've  got  first  to  straighten  out  my 
mistake  in  bringing  him  here.  But  I  want  to  tell 
you  I  was  "overwrought"  this  afternoon — I  sup 
pose  I  am  still,  for  that  matter — but  I  meant  every 
word  I  said. 

VIOLET.  (Troubled,  looking  down)  Oh,  no, 
Mr.  Wheeler. 

WHEELER.  (Doggedly)  Yes,  I  did.  (She  shakes 
her  head)  Oh,  yes. 

VIOLET.  (Quietly,  not  looking  up)  You  don't 
know  how  sorry  I  am  for  you.  (Moves  away  a 
little.) 

WHEELER.  '(With  feeling,  but^  quietly)  I  felt  I 
simply  couldn't  stand  the  situation  here,  unless  I 
could  rely  on  your  helping  me. 

VIOLET.  (Looking  up  seriously)  I  think  things 
have  just  got  too  much  for  you,  Mr.  Wheeler. 

WHEELER.  (With  a  controlled  desperation)  If 
they  were  that,  this  afternoon,  they're  more  than 
that  to-night,  don't  you  think  ?  (More  loudly)  I've 
never  seen  anything  like  it!  You  couldn't  have 
helped  but  notice  my  wife's  behavior  with  this  fel 
low  Smun. 

VIOLET.     With  whom? 

WHEELER.     (Impatiently)    With  this  Smun! 

VIOLET.     (Frowning)    Who? 

WHEELER.     Clarence.     Clarence  Smun. 

VIOLET.     But  his  name  isn't  "Smun." 

WHEELER.     Yes.    S-M-U-N  Smun. 

VIOLET.  No.  His  name's  Moon.  M-double  O-N 
Moon.  Clarence  Moon. 


CLARENCE  8? 

WHEELER.  (Annoyed)  Oh,  but  I  know.  My 
secretary  took  his  name  When  he  applied  in  my  office. 
I'm  not  quite  such  an  idiot  as  to  put  a  man  in  my 
house  and  not  even  know  his  name!  It's  Smun. 

VIOLET.  Have  you  ever  spoken  to  him  by  that 
name?  Calling  him  "Mr.  Smun,"  I  mean? 

WHEELER.  (At  c.)  Why,  certainly!  I  don't 
know — maybe  I  haven't.  No.  Perhaps  not.  Bobby 
and  Cora  started  in  calling  him  Clarence,  and  the 
rest  of  us  just  dropped  into  that.  (Goes  over  to 
VIOLET,)  But  have  you  ever  called  him  "Mr. 
Moon?" 

VIOLET.  (A  little  consciously)  I  believe  I've 
just  called  him  "you." 

WHEELER.  I  thought  so !  It's  Smun.  I  may  be 
in  a  bad  state  of  nerves,  but  at  least  I  know  a  name 
of  four  letters  when  I  see  it ! 

VIOLET.  (Skeptically)  Did  he  write  it  for 
you? 

WHEELER.     No!    But  Mrs.  Martyn  did! 

VIOLET.     (Coldly)     Oh,  she  was  mistaken. 

WHEELER.  (Emphatically)  Mrs.  Martyn  is 
never  mistaken ! 

VIOLET.  (With  serene  doggedness)  His  name's 
Moon,  though! 

WHEELER.  (Sharply)  I  really  don't  see  what's 
the  use  of  being  so  obstinate  about  it ! 

VIOLET.     (Offended)     Mr.  Wheeler! 

WHEELER.  (With  a  flinging  out  of  hands,  he 
swings  away  from  her)  Oh,  well;  good  gracious, 
what's  the  good  of  quarreling  about  a  thing  like 
that?  It  is  Smun!  '(Turns  up.) 

('BOBBY  enters  up  c.) 

VIOLET.     (Shaking     her     head     slightly)       No. 
Moon. 
WHEELER.     (Whirling    upon    her)      I    said 


88  CLARENCE 

(Checks  himself,  his  mouth  open.    He  sees  BOBBY J 
I  asked  you 

/BOBBY  passing  up;  WHEELER  calls  to  him.) 

BOBBY.  (Reprovingly)  Look;  you  said,  "Step 
out  a  moment."  (Going  off.) 

WHEELER.  Wait  a  minute.  ('BOBBY  comes  in) 
What  do  you  understand  Clarence's  name  to  be? 

BOBBY.  (With  suspicion  that  either  he  is  being 
insulted  or  his  father  is  becoming  an  idiot)  What 
do  I  understand  Clarence's  name  to  be? 

WHEELER.     (Testily)    That's  what  I  asked  you ! 

BOBBY.  (In  the  same  state  of  mind,  testily) 
Why,  what  do  you  mean,  asking  me  such  a  ques 
tion? 

WHEELER.     (Angrily)    What? 

BOBBY.  (A  light  striking  him)  Oh,  you  mean 
his  last  name  ? 

WHEELER.     (Savagely)    I  do !    Do  you  know  it  ? 

BOBBY.  (With  dignified  asperity)  Cert'nly  I 
know  it  His  name's  Clarence  Smart. 

VIOLET.  (With  a  quiet  triumph)  I  told  you  it 
wasn't  "Smun."  It's  Moon. 

WHEELER.  (Turning  up,  despairing  of  every 
thing)  Oh,  dear!  Oh,  dear! 

BOBBY.     (Mildly)    His  last  name's  Smart,  Violet. 

VIOLET.    No.    It's  Moon. 

fCoRA  sings  off  JL,.) 

BOBBY.  '(Surprised)  Oh,  is  it?  Well— all  right. 
It's  Moon.  (Sits  philosophically.  WHEELER  turns 
and  stares  at  him.) 

READY  BELL 

VIOLET.  fCoRA  enters  c.,  still  humming f  starts  to 
exit  up  R.;  Well?  What  about  him? 

BOBBY.    Well,  in  the  first  place 


CLARENCE  89 

WHEELER.  (Up  c.)  Wait.  (Frowning)  Cora. 
(He  comes  down.) 

CORA.     (Halting  at  door)    Whatcha  want,  Papa  ? 

WHEELER.     What  is  Clarence's  last  name? 

CORA.  (Preoccupied,  but  the  slightest  bit  sur 
prised)  Clarence?  I  never  thought  of  his  having 
one.  (Begins  to  hum  again  and  exits  R.,  still  much 
Preoccupied.) 

BOBBY.  (Mildly  explaining)  You  see,  she  hasn't 
got  any  sense. 

BELL 

WHEELER.  (Almost  moaning)  Perhaps  we 
might  agree  to  continue  to  speak  of  him  just  as 

"Clarence."     The  important  thing  is  to (He 

breaks  off  as  DINWIDDIE  enters  R.    WHEELER  looks 
at  him  in  frowning  inquiry.) 

DINWIDDIE.  {Not  stopping,  crossing  to  L.cJ 
Door,  sir. 

WHEELER.  Not  at  home.  ^DINWIDDIE  starts  out 
R.  Front  of  WHEELER,  back  of  VIOLET)  Dinwid- 
die?  (DINWIDDIE  turns)  You  distribute  the  mail 
in  the  house ;  you've  seen  Smun's  letters 

DINWIDDIE.     Whose,  sir  ? 

WHEELER.  (Goes  up  to  DINWIDDIE — testily) 
Clarence's!  How  is  his  last  name  spelled  on  the 
letters  that  come  for  him? 

DINWIDDIE.  There  haven't  any  come  for  him 
since  he's  been  here,  sir. 

WHEELER.     All  right. 

DINWIDDIE.     Yes,  sir. 

(Exit  up  c.  to  Rj 

WHEELER.  (At  L.C.  Going  on  rather  irritably) 
Been  here  three  weeks  and  hasn't  had  a  letter ;  that's 
pretty  queer! 

BOBBY.     Well,  yes ! 

WHEELER.  I'm  willing  to  waive  his  name,  though, 
of  course,  it  is  Smun. 


90  CLARENCE 

VIOLET.  (Rises — interrupting)  But,  Mr. 
Wheeler,  nobody's  name  ever  was  "Smun." 

WHEELER.     It  happens  his  is.    Mrs.  Martyn 

VIOLET.     There  isn't  sudi  a  name.     It's  Moon. 

WHEELER.  (Gulping  down  a  sharp  expostula 
tion)  Well,  let's  get  to  what  has  to  be  done  about 
him!  I  don't  like  this  three  weeks  without  a  let 
ter.  A  young  'man  of  that  sort  gets  letters.  It  looks 
a's  if  he'd  taken  measure  not  to  get  'em. 

BOBBY.     Well,  you  brought  him  here,  Father. 

WHEELER.  (At  c.)  All  of  us  have  our  foolish 
day  sometime,  when  we  do  the  thing  we've  never 
before.  Afterwards  it  was  so  embarrassing  to  ask 
him  questions  about  himself  that  I've  put  it  off  from 
day  to  day.  I  won't  put  it  off  now!  (Enter  DIN- 
WIDDIE  from  R.)  What  do  you  -want?  (This  is  to 

DlNWIDDlE.J 

DINWIDDIE.  It's  Mr.  Hubert  Stem,  sir.  He 
asked  for  you,  sir. 

WHEELER.     (Sharply)    What! 

VIOLET.  I  made  it  clear  to  him  this  afternoon, 
Mr.  Wheeler,  that  if  he  came  here  again,  you  would 
see  him. 

DINWIDDIE.  That's  what  he  said,  sir,  when  I  told 
him  "Not  at  home." 

WHEELER.  (Sharply,  as  if  to  go  out  R.J  Is 
Miss  Cora  out  there? 

DINWIDDIE.     No,  sir;  she's  upstairs. 

WHEELER.  (Grimly  breathing  hard)  Tell  him  to 
come  in.  (Exit  DINWIDDIE  R. )  I'll  finish  this  one 

first!  Just (Goes  up  c.)  Please,  Miss  Pin- 

ney 

(He  motions  to  them  to  go  up;  and  they  do  as  STEM 
enters  R.  He  is  in  dinner  clothes  and  overcoat, 
no  hat  and  is  repressing  some  excitement.  DIN 
WIDDIE  closes  the  door  without  entering.  BOBBY 
goes  up  on  veranda.) 


CLARENCE  91 

WHEELER.     Now,  Mr.  Stem 

STEM.  (Quickly  as  he  enters)  Now,  wait,  Mr. 
Wheeler,  before  you  say  anything  you'll  be  sorry 
for! 

WHEELER.  (Grimly)  Then  perhaps  you'd  bet 
ter  speak  quickly,  Mr.  Stem. 

^STEM  comes  down.) 

STEM.  (Quickly,  earnestly)  I  came  here  to  do 
your  family  a  service.  {Enter  CORA  R.J  I 
know 

WHEELER.     (Sharply)     Wait,  if  you  please. 

A  is  heard  for  an  instant  humming  R.  The 
same  song.  She  is  carrying  CLARENCE'S  saxo 
phone.  Seeing  nobody,  she  goes  rhythmically 
with  her  humming  to  up  c.  Suggests,  merely, 
a  dance  thought  accompanying  the  air.) 

BOBBY.  (At  L.C.  on  platform.  Seriously  and 
significantly)  Cora,  don't  you  see  Mr.  Stem? 

CORA.  (Not  stopping,  glances  back  at  STEM  with 
an  utterly  blank  semi-circular  sweep  of  her  eye, 
speaks  in  an  absent  monotone)  Howja  do.  (In 
stantly  humming  again,  exits  gaily  up  c.  Short 
pause.) 

BOBBY.  (Plaintively)  Well,  that's  the  way  they 
are,  sometimes! 

WHEELER.  (Sternly  to  STEM,)  Go  on,  sir,  if 
you  please. 

STEM.  I'm  going  to  be  brutally  frank.  I  want 
first  to  apologize  for  my  thoughtlessness  about  Miss 
Wheeler.  I  know  she's  not  "out"  and  I  did  get  her 
to  do  a  rather  absurd  thing,  but  it  was  my  only  way 
to  force  another  lady  to  pay  some  attention  to  my 
existence.  I  mean  Miss  Pinney. 

WHEELER.     (Incredulous)     Miss  Pinney? 


92  CLARENCE 

VIOLET.    You  couldn't  leave  me  out  of  it? 

STEM.  No.  (To  WHEELER,)  I  tell  you  can 
didly  I'm  here  now  'on  Miss  Pinney's  account.  The 
only  reason  I've  ever  been  here  is  on  Miss  Pinney's 
account. 

BOBBY.  (Coming  down  to  R.  of  STEM.  Severely) 
Look  here!  This  is  serious ! 

VIOLET.  (Looking  all  the  while  at  STEM)  Mr. 
Stem  knows  that  I've  always  been  unable  to  like 
him :  he's  not  very  pleasant  in  the  means  he  uses  to 
"force"  my  "attention  to  his  existence." 

WHEELER.  (To  STEM,  impatiently)  What  do 
you  want  to  say  ? 

STEM.  When  I  saw  her  this  afternoon,  there  was 
a  very  unattractive  young  man  in  a  soldiers  uniform 
drumming  on  the  piano  here. 

WHEELER.     Well,  what  about  him? 

STEM.  I'm  sorry  to  say  I  thought  Miss  Pinney 
seemed  quite — under  'his  spell.  (VIOLET  laughs) 
Since  then  I've  made  some  inquiries  about  him. 
fViOLET  laughs  again.) 

WHEELER.     How  ? 

STEM.  (Smiling  faintly)  Well,  for  one  thing, 
my  servants  know  yours. 

WHEELER.     Well? 

STEM.  If  yours  know  the  facts — and  I  think 
they  do — you  brought  this  man  here  without  knowing 
anything  whatever  about  him. 

WHEELER.  (Grimly)  Well,  we  know  his  name. 
It's  Clarence  Smun. 

VIOLET.  Mr.  Wheeler,  will  you  ask  him,  him 
self? 

WHEELER.  I  decline !  Have  a  man  three  weeks 
in  my  house  and  then  go  up  and  ask  his  name? 

VIOLET.     It's  Clarence  Moon. 

STEM.  Oh,  no.  I  think  you'll  find  it'!s  not  even 
Qarence. 

VIOLET.    What  nonsense! 


CLARENCE  93 

STEM.  Is  it  ?  (To  WHEELER,)  He  said  he  drove 
mules,  and  he  wears  the  uniform  of  a  private  in  the 
Quartermaster's  Department,  doesn't  he?  (Taking 
<j>  newspaper  from  his  pocket.) 

WHEELER.     Yes.    He  did. 

STEM.    He's  been  here  three  weeks. 

WHEELER.    Just  -about. 

STEM.  (Opening  the  paper)  "Charles  Short, 
wagoner  in  the  Quartermaster's  Department.  De 
serted  three  weeks  ago,  sought  both  by  War  De 
partment  and  divorced  wife  seeking  alimony.  Also 
wanted  in  Delaware."  There's  his  picture. 

WHEELER.     But  it  doesn't  look  like  him. 

STEM.  (Promptly)  Newspaper  pictures  never 
do.  I  got  the  idea  as  soon  as  I  saw  it.  It  looks 
something  like  him. 

VIOLET.  (Taking  the  paper)  More  like  me!  It 
might  just  as  well  be  my  picture !  (Then  with  great 
earnestness)  What  an  awful  fool  you  are!  (She 
hands  paper  to  BOBBY  who  looks  at  it.) 

WARNING  FOR  SINGING  OFF  STAGE 

STEM.  (Angrily  triumphant)  There!  That's 
one  thing  I  wanted  to  find  out! 

VIOLET.     What  is? 

STEM.     How  much  interest  you  do  take  in  him ! 

VIOLET.  (Contemptuously)  As  a  matter  of  fact 
I'm  extremely  ^interested  in  him !  (Turns  to  win 
dow.  Indignantly.) 

BOBBY.  (Pleased.  Following  VIOLET  up  to  win 
dow)  Are  you,  Violet?  (Turns  to  VIOLET. ) 

STEM.  (Sharply,  crosses  to  WHEELER)  Mr. 
Wheeler,  have  you  any  objection  to  my  asking  him 
pointblank  if  he's  this  Charles  Short? 

WHEELER.  (Profoundly  annoyed  by  everything, 
pacing  the  floor)  Oh^  ask  him,  ask  him!  Point- 
plank  or  any  other  way !  We've  g*ot  to  do  some- 
thing  about  him ! 


94  CLARENCE 

STEM.  (Decisively)  I'll  do  it !  fViOLET  laughs; 
he  turns  to  her,  expostulating)  Wait  till  you  hear 
what  he  says:  Watch  to  see  if  he  doesn't  quibble. 
(Going  up)  Is  he  out  there?  I'll  ask  him  now. 

SINGING 

BOBBY.  (Goes  up  c.f  looking  L.)  You  can't  now. 
Listen :  It's  terrible. 

(The  saxophone  and  an  alto  and  soprano  are  heard 
off  L.  in  the  air  CORA  has  been  humming.  The 
effect  is  not  bad,  but  fails  to  please  those  in 
room.  WHEELER  paces.  VIOLET  R.C.  STEM 
stands  R.C.) 

BOBBY.  (With  feeling)  Why,  I  haven't  heard 
Mama  even  try  to  sing  for  anyway  four  or  five 
years,  have  you,  Papa  ? 

^  WHEELER.     (Halting)      No;    I    haven't.      (His 
frown  deepens.) 

BOBBY.  It  might  be  kind  of — better,  if  Cora 
wouldn't — they  must  feel  terribly  happy  to  be  able 
to  stand  makin'  sounds  like  those ! 

WHEELER.  (Waving  toward  him  angrily)  It's 
gone  far  enough !  Tell  them  to  come  in  here. 

BOBBY.  (Shouting  to  off  L .)  Hey !  Take  a  rest ! 
Quit !  Come  in  here !  Papa  wants  you  to  come  in 
here!  (Music  stops)  Yes,  he  does!  Yes!  In 
here! 

(Laughing  voices  are  heard  off  up  LV  then  CORAI 
appears  up  c.,  still  wearing  her  wrap,  carrying 
the  saxophone  affectionately.  CLARENCE  fol 
lows,  his  coat  closed  over  his  chest,  the  collar 
turned  up.  MRS.  WHEELER  clings  happily  to 
his  arm;  she  has  a  fur  wrap  about  her.  STEM 
goes  down  R.  VIOLET  to* piano,  WHEELER  above 
table.) 


CLARENCE  95 

CORA.  (As  she  comes)  You  want  us  to  come  in  ? 
(As  in  dreamy  surprise.) 

MRS.  W.  (Smiling  brightly.  Passes  CORA,) 
Howdy'do,  Mr.  Stem?  (To  WHEELER,  mildly  sur 
prised)  Did  you  want  us?  Miss  Pinney's  here. 
(Crosses  down  to  c.  She  relinquishes  CLARENCE'S 
arm,  coming  down,  letting  her  wrap  fall  to  her  arm) 
Do  hope  our  little  operetta  didn't  disturb 

WHEELER.  Never  mind,  Fanny!  Mr.  Stem  has 
a  question  he  wants  to  ask,  I  believe. 

MRS.  W.     (Frowning,  amused)    Of  me? 

STEM.  (Nervously,  but  sharply,  pointing  to 
CLARENCE,  'who  is  up  R.C.  with  CORA)  No.  Of  that 
person  there! 

CLARENCE.  (Surprised,  pausing  as  he  turns  down 
his  collar)  Of  this  person?  (Comes  down.) 

STEM.     (Loudly)     Yes,  sir!    You! 

CLARENCE.  (Puzzled,  coming  down,  CORA  fol 
lowing  him)  You  wanted  to  ask  me  about  some 
thing  ? 

fCoRA  halts  when  he  does,  the  saxophone  in  her 
arms,  her  eyes  alzvays  fixed  upon  him.) 

STEM.  {Sharply.  BOBBY  crosses  to  L.J  I 
wanted  to  ask  you  a  simple,  direct  question.  I  see 
you've  left  off  your  uniform  since  this  afternoon. 

CLARENCE.  Why,  that  isn't  a  simple,  direct  ques 
tion.  It  isn't  a  question  at  all.  It's  an  observa 
tion. 

STEM.  (Exasperated)  I'm  coming  to  my  ques 
tion,  but  first  I  want  to  know :  Didn't  you  leave  off 
your  uniform  after  the  arrival  of  this  evening's 
paper? 

CLARENCE.  (With  some  indignation)  No.  I  left 
off  my  uniform  after  the  arrival  of  my  other  clothes. 

STEM.     (Angrily)     Isn't  that  quibbling? 

CLARENCE.    Why,  do  you  dress  by  the  paper? 


96  CLARENCE 

STEM.  (Fiercely)  My  question  is  simply  and 
plainly  this :  Did  you  ever  hear  the  name  of  Charles 
Short  ? 

CLARENCE.     (Quickly)    Charles  Short?    Yes. 

STEM,  (Approaching  a  triumph)  Do  you  know 
anybody  by  the  name  of  Charles  Short? 

CLARENCE.    Of  course  I  do. 

STEM.  (Crescendo)  Do  you  know  anybqdy  by 
the  name  of  Charles  Short  well? 

CLARENCE.     Charles  Shortwell?    I  do  not. 

STEM.  But  you  do  know  a  person  named  Charles 
Short? 

CLARENCE,  Yes.  Don't  you?  What  do  you 
mean  ?  Everybody  knows  somebody  named  Charlie 
Short! 

STEM.  (Loudly,  and  gesticulating  like  a  lawyer) 
I'm  talking  about  the  one  you  know! 

CLARENCE.     (Quickly)    I  know  three! 

STEM.  (Furious)  I  mean  the  one  we're  talking 
about ! 

CLARENCE.  Well,  good  heavens,  my  dear  sir, 
which  one  of  them  are  we  talking  about?  I'm  not 
talking  about  any  of  'em.  If  you  want  to  ask  me  a 
simple,  direct  question  about  somebody  named  Char 
lie  Short,  surely  you  ought  to  be  able  to  say  some 
thing  more  about  him  than  that  he's  the  one  we're 
talking  about. 

STEM.     More  quibbles!    Quibbles! 

CLARENCE.  "Quibbles?"  I'm  trying  if  possible 
to  reach  your  mind !  It  seems  you  think  we  have  a 
mutual  acquaintance  named  Charlie  Short  and  you 
•want  to  find  out  something  about  him  from  me,  and 
you  immediately  proceed  to  lose  your  temper  because 
your  own  powers  of  description  are  too  limited  for 
you  to  tell  me  which  of  the  three  /  know  is  the  one 
you  know ! 

CORA.  (In  a  breath,  with  dreamy  enthusiasm. 
Comes  down)  Clarence,  that's  the  most  wonderful 


CLARENCE  97 

logic!  Let's  go  out  on  the  porch  and  play  some 
more :  this  is  "awf ' ly  tedious." 

MRS.  W.  {About  to  rise  from  where  she  sits  near 
table)  Let's  do ! 

WHEELER.  (Loudly,  angrily)  No !  We'll  finish 
this! 

STEM.  I'll  tell  you  which  Charles  Short  I  meanj 
I  mean  the  one  that  was  in  the  army ! 

CLARENCE.  (Despairing  of  him,  plaintively  to 
the  others)  We  had  four  million  men  in  the  Ameri 
can  Army :  I  suppose  he'd — (Meaning  STEM.) — think 
it  singular  if  I  told  him  that  so  far  as  I  can  guess 
probably  all  three  of  the  Charles  Shorts  I  know 
either  enlisted  or  got  drafted ! 

STEM.  (Loudly)  I  claim  his  evasion's  are  more 
and  more  suspicious!  (Crosses  to  table,  picks  up 
paper.  Seizing  it  and  thrusting  it  under  CLARENCE'S 
eyes,  slapping  it)  THIS  is 'the  Charles  Short  / 
mean!  Charles  Short,  deserter!  (Goes  and  gets 
paper.)  * 

CLARENCE.  Oh,  that's  the  one  you  know? 
Charles  Short,  deserter? 

STEM.  I  ask  the  pointblank  question,  yes  or  no. 
DO  YOU  KNOW  HIM? 

CORA.  (On  this,  plaintively)  Clarence,  won't 
you  play  just  once  more?  This  is  getting  so  tedi 
ous! 

(Her  voice  rises  high  in  complaint  on  the  last  word. 
STEM  is  in  despair  at  the  interruption.  CLAR 
ENCE  looks  at  her.  STEM  goes  down  c.  dis 
gusted.) 

STEM.  ( His  own  voice  strained)  I  gay  I  want  to 
know 

CLARENCE.  (Turning  his  head  from  CORA  to 
look  at  the  paper,  which  he  has  taken)  You  want  to 
know  if  I  know  this  one?  (Turning  to  look  at 


98  CLARENCE 

STEM)  They  were  all  homely.  Was  the  one  you 
knew 

STEM.     I  say  do  you  know  that  face? 

CLARENCE.  It  could  just  as  well  be  a  picture  of 
me  as  anyone  else.  /STEM  looks  at  WHEELER^  Or 
Mr.  Wheeler,  or  you. 

STEM.  (Ominously,  shaking  his  head)  No. 
That's  not  a  picture  of  me!  Or  of  Mr.  Wheeler! 

CLARENCE.  It  could  be,  I  sard.  Of  course,  it 
isn't,  because  evidently  if's  a  picture  of  the  Short 
that  you  know :  at  least,  I  suppose  you  do  J  (Exas 
perated)  What  is  it  about  him  ?  What  do  you  want 
to  know  about  him  ?  Why  in  the  world  do  you  ask 
me  about  him? 

VIOLET.  (Rises,  comes  to  up  c.)  Let  ME  tell 
you.  In  the  first  place,  they  want  to  know  if  you 
know  him. 

CLARENCE.  (Despairingly)  I've  been  able  to 
— gather  that  much  from  Mr.  Stem !  How  on  earth 
could  a  person  tell  if  he  knew  another  person  from 
a  picture  like  that? 

VIOLET.     You  couldn't,  but 

CLARENCE.  (Going  on)  And  what  about  it  if  I 
did  know  'him  ?  What  do  they  want  me  to  do  about 
'him  ? 

VIOLET.     They  think  you  are  this  Charles  Short ! 

CLARENCE.  They  what?  They  think  7  am  this 
Charles  Short? 

VIOLET.     (Sharply)    Yes.     Mr.  Stem  does! 

CLARENCE.  Do  you  think  'so?  You  seemed  to 
think  a  lot  of  other  thing's — do  you 

WARNING  FOR  CURTAIN 

VIOLET.  (Sharply)  Yes.  I  think  die  other 
tilings,  but  I  don't  think  this  one ! 

CLARENCE.  I'd  rather  have  you  think  this  one 
and  not  the  others. 


CLARENCE  99 

STEM.  (Vehemently)  Aren't  you  this  Charles 
Short? 

CLARENCE.  (Violently)  Let  me  get  this  straight. 
You  want  to  know  whether  I  know  this  Charles 
Short  and  then,  whether  I  know  him  or  not,  you 
want  to  know  whether  I  am  this  Charles  Short  and 
not  one  of  the  other  two  Charles  Shorts?  Is  that 
what  you  mean  ? 

STEM.     (Fiercely)    I  want  to  know 

CLARENCE.  {Cutting  him  off  fiercely)  Well,  I'll 
answer  you:  No!  I'm  not  this  Charles  Short!  I'm 
not  this  one  here  in  the  paper,  understand !  About 
•my  being  either  of  the  other  two,  or  both  of  'em,  I 
won't  commit  myself,  but  I'm  not  this  one! 

STEM.  (Furiously)  Isn't  that  quibbling,  Mr. 
Wheeler? 

CLARENCE.     (Turning    sharply    on    WHEELER,) 

Does   Mr.   Wheeler  think {Incredulously  to 

him)     Have  you  been  sharing  Mr.   Stem's  suspi 
cions  as  to  his  friend,  this  Mr.  Charles  Short? 

WHEELER.  (Emphatically)  I  have  not.  It 
might  have  been  possible,  so  I  let  him  ask  you.  I'm 
glad  it  came  up,  because  we  certainly  need  to  know 
more  about  you  than  we  do.  We  need  to  know  just 
who  you  are! 

CLARENCE.  '(Incredulous)  You  need  to  know 
who  I  am!  Why,  I  supposed  you  did  know  from 
the  time  I  gave  my  name  to  Mrs.  Martyn  in  your 
office! 

WHEELER.  (Vehemently)  Well,  I  didn't!  We 
don't  know  anything  about  you  I 

CLARENCE.  (In  an  equally  vehement  tone)  Why, 
good  heaverts,  all  you  had  to  do  was  to  look  me  up 
in  the  last  edition  of  "Who's  Who" — I  dont  mean 
that  I'm  a  great  man,  but  I  certainly  am  one  of  the 
authorities  on  the  coleoptera ! 

WHEELER.    {Angrily)    On  the  what? 

(DiNWiDDiE  enters  L.,  stands  there.) 


ioo  CLARENCE 

CLARENCE.  (Shouting)  On  the  COLEOP- 
TERA! 

DINWIDDIE.  (Sharply  and  quickly,  in  one  breath) 
The  hot  water  plant's  busted  again  and  no  plumbers. 
Mister  Clair'nce,  if  you  don't  come  and  fix  it  the 
house'll  be  flooded  with  ice-'water.  It's  an  eight- 
foour  job.  I'll  lend  ye  some  overalls.  (Exit  DIN 
WIDDIE.  ) 

('CLARENCE  strides  to  up  R.    VIOLET  drops  back  to 
down  R.C.J 

CORA.  (Plaintively)  Clarence,  couldn't  you  play 
just  once  more  ? 

CLARENCE.  (At  door  L.)  No,  I'm  afraid  I  can't ! 
Not  for  eight  hours ! 

(Exit  CLARENCE  L.,  DINWIDDIE  following  him. 
MRS.  WHEELER  stands  looking  after  him  wist 
fully,  but  CORA,  close  to  her,  sits  sorrowfully 
upon  the  floor  as  he  says  (feight  hours."  VIO 
LET  exits  R.  simultaneously  when  CLARENCE  ex 
its  L.  They  look  across  at  each  other  just  be 
fore.) 

BOBBY.  (Coming  down  importantly)  Well, 
wha'daya  think  about  it,  Father?  Don'dha  think 
he's  prob'ly  crazy  ? 

WHEELER.  (Sweeping  him  away  with  a  gesture, 
exasperated  and  perplexed  beyond  measure)  I  don't 
know!  Go  get  me  a  dictionary!  And  a  copy  of 
/Who's  Who"! 

(Begins  to  pace  the  floor,  BOBBY  going  up  c.    MRS. 
WHEELER  and  CORA  R.C.) 

CURTAIN 


•  •»* 


ACT  IV 

SCENE:  The  same.  The  curtains  of  the^  sun-room 
have  been  pulled  back,  showing  a  bright  morn- 
ing  outdoors.  In  the  sun-room  are:  CORA,  in 
pretty  "country  clothes"  for  autumn,  but  not 
wearing  a  hat;  and  MRS.  WHEELER  in  a  becom 
ing  morning  negligee.  They  sit,^  examining  with 
interest  some  large  books,  turning  the  pages;— 
other  books,  including  a  new  "Who's  Who,"  are 
on  a  table  near  them.  WHEELER  enters  R.  (The 
doors  there  being  open)  He  wears  the  same 
clothes  shown  in  Act  I  and  II  and  glasses;  has 
"Sun"  and  "Times"  He  is  going  to  sit  in  the 
sun-room  and  read;  but  halts  upon  seeing  MRS. 
WHEELER,  on  couch  L.  He  doesn't  see  CORA  at 
R.  of  steps. 

MRS.  WHEELER.  (Pleasantly)  Good-morning, 
Henry!  (Nods  smilingly)  I  hope  you  slept  well? 
(Looks  again  at  her  book;  exchanging  it  for  another; 
CORA  doing  the  same.) 

WHEELER.  {Gravely)  Thanks.  (Goes  to  set 
tee  by  piano.) 

MRS.  WHEELER.  I  told  'em  not  to  put  too  much 
sugar  on  your  grape-fruit  again.  Was  your  break 
fast  all  right? 

WHEELER.     Thanks.     It's  quite  surprising. 

MRS.  W.     (Looking  at  her  book)    What  is? 

WHEELER.    \( Gravely)    Your  being  so — 'amiable. 

MRS.  W.     (Indulgently)    You  mean  in  the  morn 


ing? 


101 


102  CLARENCE 


•  (Casually  I  Yes  —  or  evening.  '(Sits 
&y  'piano'  on  settee  R.C.,  lifting  one  of  the  papers  to 
read.) 

MRS.  W.  (Amiably)  Oh,  we're  all  cheerful  now. 
(Sits  L.cJ  Isn't  Miss  Pinney  down  yet? 

WHEELER.  (Quietly)  I  don't  know.  Is  —  Gar- 
ence? 

MRS.  W.  No.  Dinwiddie  says  the  poor  boy 
didn't  go  to  bed  till  after  four  —  but  he  kept  at  it  till 
he  got  that  dreadful  heating  plant  repaired  -  ! 

CORA.     (Dreamily,  at  back)    Isn't  he  wonderful  ? 

WHEELER.  ((  Mutteringly)  Oh,  are  you  there, 
Cora  ?  I  didn't  see  you. 

MRS.  W.     I  thought  you  didn't. 

CORA.  (Alluding  to  book)  This  is  "Bon-Con," 
Mamma.  There''s  nothing  that  sounds  (Comes 
down)  like  it  here.  It  couldn't  be  Coaling  Stations 
of  course?  You  don't  think  it  Was  Coaling  Stations 
he  said,  do  you?  I  know  it  was  coal-something, 
wasn't  it,  Papa  ? 

WHEELER.  (Gruffly)  Wasn't  what  "coal  some 
thing?" 

CORA.     What  Clarence  said. 

WHEELER.  (Touched  on  a  sore  spot)  I  don't 
know  and  I  don't  care  to  know.  (Reading  his  paper 
again.) 

CORA.  (Coming  down,  carrying  a  large  book. 
Crosses  to  WHEELER,)  Yes,  Papa  ;  you  know  when 
he  said  last  night  lhe  was  one  of  the  authorities  on 
coal-'somerhing  and  you  sent  Bobby  for  the  diction 
ary  and  got  so  mad  because  by  the  time  he  came 
back  with  it  you  couldn't  remember  this  coal-some 
thing-  word  to  look  it  up  ;  so  you  couldn't,  and  went 
off  to  bed  wit<h  a  headache  powder.  It  was  coal- 
something,  wasn't  it,  because  you  can  remember 
anyhow  that  much,  can't  you,  Papa  ? 

WHEELER.     No.    I  cannot  ;  and  I  don't  care  to  ! 

CORA.     (Going  back  to  the  sun-room)     Well,  I 


CLARENCE  103 

know  it  was.  (Plaintively)  But  the  encyclopedia's 
abslootly  more  than  useless  whenever  you  need  it  the 
most.  You  can't  get  any  help  out  of  it  at  all  unless 
you  know  just  what  you  want  to  look  up!  (Goes 
up  and  gets  "Who's  Who")  I'd  have  willingly  gone 
and  asked  Clarence  last  night  while  he  was  working 
in  the  cellar,  only  you  wouldn't  let  me. 

MRS.  W.  (Pleasantly)  I  don't  just  see  why  you 
couldn't  have  asked  him  yourself,  Henry. 

WHEELER.  (Irascibly)  Don't  you?  I  suppose 
you  think  I'm  so  ridiculous  already  I  needn't  have 
minded  making  myself  more  so ! 

MRS.  W.  (Soothingly)  But  I  don't  see  the  ridic 
ulousness 

WHEELER.  You  don't  see  the  ridiculousness  of 
going  down  in  the  cellar  to  ask  a  man  you've  been 
badgering  and  who's  repairing  a  'heating  plant  for 
you — to  ask  him  what  a  word  was  that  he'd  already 
told  you  twice! 

CORA.  (Comes  down  c.  with  book)  Well,  you 
couldn't  sit  up  till  four  o'clock  to  ask  him ;  at  least, 
Miss  Pinney  wouldn't  let  me.  (Emphasizing  the  last 
two  words)  How  could  you  be  so  absurd  as  to  think 
Clarence's  name  was  "Smun,"  Papa? 

MRS.  W.  (Quietly  reproving)  Your  father's  al 
ways  accurate,  Cora. 

(WHEELER  stares  at  herf  and  sits  again.) 

CORA.  Weil,  so's  Violet.  She  heard  him  give  his 
name  in  the  office  and  she  'says  it's  Moon. 

MRS.  W.  (Absently)  Hush!  Your  father's 
right,  of  course. 

CORA.  (Putting  her  book  on  the  table)  There's 
a  whole  book  on  Coal  in  the  library.  I'M  goin  'to 
get  it.  (Runs  off  L.) 

WHEELER.  (Rises — crosses  to  fable  for  paper) 
Do  you  mind  being  quite  frank  ?  Why  have  you  sud 
denly  become  so  amiable  with  me? 


104  CLARENCE 

MRS.  W.  (Smilingly)  Don't  you  think  'anybody 
can  be  amiable  if  she  can  find  even  just  one  pleasant 
thing  to  think  about  —  at  home?  I  'suppose  we  all 
need  —  something  ! 

WHEELER.  (Frowning)  Yes.  There's  one  pleas 
ant  thing-  /  think  about  you,  Fanny. 

MRS.  W.     (Amiably)    You've  found  one? 

WHEELER.  I  mean  to  say  ;  you're  not  obstinate  — 
about  names,  for  instance  - 

MRS.  W.  (Lightly  but  seriously)  Oh,  no.  I 
only  think  of  what  he  is. 

WHEELER.  (Striking  his  paper  impatiently) 
"What  he  is?"  You  can't!  We  don't  know  any 
more  about  that  than  we  did  before  I  questioned 
him! 

MRS.  W.  (Pleasantly)  "Questioned  him?" 
Why,  you  didn't  even  ask  him  his  name  ! 

WHEELER.  (Breaking  out)  My  Lord,  do  you 
suppose  I  could  have  a  man  in  my  house  three  weeks 
and  then  ask  him  his  name?  His  name's  Smun. 

MRS.  WT.  (Indulgently)  There  isn't  any  "Smun" 
in  "Who's  Who."  Or  any  "Clarence  Moon"  either. 

WHEELER.  I  didn't  expect  to  find  him  in  Who's 
Who  !  You  don't  suppose  anybody  in  "Who's  Who" 
would  have  been  looking  for  a  job  the  way  he  - 
(Louder  with  the  new  thought)  Why  hasn't  he  had 
any  letters  since  he's  been  here  ? 

MRS.  W.  (Casually,  as  she  looks  in  a  book) 
Probably  because  he  hasn't  written  to  anybody. 
(Struck  by  this  idea,  and  annoyed  by  it,  WHEELER 
rubs  his  head.  Going  on  absently)  That  usually  is 
the  way,  isn't  it? 

WHEELER.  (Mumbling)  I  dunno!  I  dunno! 
(Reads  again) 

enters  LV  bringing  another  book.) 


CORA.     (As  she  comes  in)    I've  almost  remem 
bered  what  he  said  :  it  was  something  like  "coal  and 


CLARENCE  105 

potteries" — I'm  sure  there  was  something  about  pot 
teries  in  it.  (She  is  at  table)  Don't  you  think  there 
was  something  like  "potteries"  in  it,  Papa? 

WHEELER.     (Almost  shouting)     I  don't  know! 

CORA.  Well,  Violet  didn't  know,  herself,  and 
she's  supposed  to  tutor  me  in  French  an'  ev'rything 
— -so  it  can't  be  anything-  in  French  or  anything. 
That  makes  it  seem  as  if  it  might  be  coal  and  pot 
teries,  doesn't  it? 

/BOBBY  enters  from  LV  dressed  as  in  Act  II.    He 
speaks  briskly  as  he  enters.) 

BOBBY.  Well,  have  you  found  out  what  he  was 
talkin'  about  yet  ?  { WHEELER  utters  a  sound  of  ex 
asperation,  rises  and  goes  up,  taking  his  papers  with 
him.  Goes  round  R.  of  table  and  up  into  Sun-Room. 
BOBBY  enters  L.  Going  on)  I  don't  think  it  was 
a  word  myself.  Look !  I  think  it  was  just  somep'n 
he  made  up,  because,  listen,  if  it  was  a  word,  why 
Fathered  of  known  it.  ^WHEELER  gives  him  a  look 
and  goes  out  up  L.  garden  quickly.  BOBBY  looks 
ufter  him)  Listen !  I  wonder  what  makes  him  so 
nervous  ? 

MRS.  W.  (Thoughtfully)  Maybe  we  all  do. 
(She  goes  quietly  out  up  c.  to  L.  garden  after 
WHEELER.J 

BOBBY.  You  don't  suppose  she  means  his  fam'ly 
upsets  him. 

CORA.  (Goes  up  c.  with  a  book.  To  BOBBY,  vir 
tuously  reproving)  I  guess  she  means  the  behavior 
of  some  o'  the  fam'ly  does !  ( VIOLET  enters  R,, 
dressed  as  in  Act  I,  but  without  a  "wrap.  She  wears 
a  hat.  CORA  doesn't  pause.  BOBBY  doesn't  see  VIO 
LET,  goes  up  c.)  You  wouldn^t  even  let  him  read 
his  paper  in  peace  an*  quiet. 

BOBBY.  (Indignantly)  Me!  Why,  it  was  you! 
I'm  goin'  to  ask  him.  (Going  L.)  Papa,  wasn't  it 
Cora  that 


io6  CLARENCE 

CORA.  (Going  L.)  I'll  ask  him  first!  Paps., 
wasn't  it  Bobby  that 

(They  go  out  angrily  up  L.,   clamoring  together. 
Exit  c.  to  L.,  then  cross  to  R.). 

"Papa,  wasn't  it  (CORA)  (BOBBY)  that  dis 
turbed  you?"  (WHEELER'S  voice  is  heard  loudly 
protesting  off  L.,  but  not  his  words,  and  a  moment 
later  CORA  and  BOBBY  return,  retreating  across  the 
sun-room  -from  up  L.  to  up  R.  in  serious  discomfiture, 
talking  loudly,  simultaneously,  not  pausing.)  What 
Bobby  says  is :  "  'Twas  your  fault !  Never  heard 
him  speak  like  that  before !  C'm  out  Jn  the  yard !" 
What  Cora  says  is :  "Well,  I  never  was  so  insulted 
by  my  own  father  in  my  life!  (Both  these  speeches 
are  finished  off  R.  BELLA  enters  R. — carrying  a 
small  "vacuum  cleaner"  just  as  the  two  are  crossing. 
VIOLET  goes  up  and  looks  after  them;  then  off  L. 
thoughtfully.) 

WHEELER.     (Off)     Oh,  damn  it — let  me  alone! 

DELLA.  (R.  benevolently,  alluding  to  R.)  He*s 
eatin'. 

VIOLET.     What?    (Comes  down  part  way.) 

DELLA.  He's  eatin'  his  breakfast;  one  cup  cof 
fee;  one  slice  toast.  Never  nothin'  more.  It  on'y 
takes  um  a  minute  an*  three-quahters ;  he's  a  com- 
fortin'  man  to  have  in  a  house.  Now  he's  through. 
Jist  like  that. 

(VIOLET  goes  up,  looking  at  the  books.  CLARENCE 
enters  R.,  dressed  as  in  the  latter  part  of  the 
second  act.) 

CLARENCE.  (Cheerfully)  Good  morning,  Miss 
Pinney.  (DELLA  stops  and  turns.  She  nods,  not 
looking  fully  at  him)  Good  morning,  Delia. 

DELLA.     (Half  amused,  half  languishingly)  Good 


CLARENCE  107 

mornin',  Mister  Clar'nce.  (Goes  L.  as  on  reluctant 
duty.  Looking  back.) 

CLARENCE.     Oh — Delia 

BELLA.     Yes  ?    Yes,  sir? 

CLARENCE.  Ah — did  you  understand  me  to  say 
that  before  I  was  in  the  army  I'd  been  employed  in 
a — wash-room — in  a  hotel? 

DELLA.  You  didn't  say  in  a  hotel,  sir,  but  I  knew 
you'd  never  'a'  been  contented  wit'  less.  You  says 
in  a  lavatory,  sir. 

CLARENCE.  Oh!  (Gravely)  Well,  I'd  have  done 
as  well  as  I  could  in  a  position  in  a  lavatory,  I 
hope ;  but  what  I  said  was  "laboratory." 

DELLA.  (Matter-of-course)  Yes,  sir.  What  is 
the  difference,  sir  ? 

CLARENCE.  Well,  in  a  laboratory  you  have  to  do 
some  work. 

DELLA.  (Commiserating  him)  Trust  you  for 
findin'  the  hard  jobs,  Mister  Clair'nce. 

CLARENCE.    Thank  you,  Delia. 

DELLA.     (Gently)    Yes,  sir. 

(Exits  c.  to  L.  with  the  vacuum  cleaner.  CLARENCE 
crosses  over  to  look  at  VIOLET.  VIOLET  comes 
down.) 

CLARENCE.  '( Alluding  to  VIOLET'S  hat)  Are  you 
going  out  this  morning?  So  am  I. 

VIOLET.  (Quietly,  rather  coldly)  I'm  gx>ing 
away,  this  morning. 

CLARENCE.  (Going  nearer  her)  "Going  away 
this  morning."  So  am  L  That''s  peculiar. 

VIOLET.  (Drily,  with  a  glance  at  him  and  away) 
Yes,  it  would  be,  if  you  were  going!  I'm  afraid 
you'd  have  it  take — several — people  with  you! 
(Looking  away  from  him)  Why  do  you  think  of 
going  ? 

CLARENCE.     "Why?"    Don't  you  think  for  an  em- 


io8  CLARENCE 

ployee  to  remain  in  a  position  a  certain  amount  of 
connivance  on  the  part  of  his  employer  is  almost  a 
necessity? 

VIOLET.     But  Mrs.  Wheeler  Won't  let  you  go. 

CLARENCE.     I  know  the  repartee  for  that,  but 

VIOLET.  (Interrupting  quickly)  Mr.  Wheeler 
won't  let  me.  (With  a  slight  laugh)  Don't  fear; 
we  had  the  most  absurd  argument  over  a  foolish 
point  last  night  and — well,  I'm  sure  he  thinks  me 
outrageously  feminine! 

CLARENCE.     What  was  the  foolish  point  ? 

VIOLET.  It  was  too  foolish  to  tell  you.  (Comes 
down  a  little.  Both  speak  seriously.) 

CLARENCE.  (Frowning)  Well,  I  suppose  the  im 
portant  thing  is  that  we're  both  going  away — and 
don't  know  where.  You've  never  told  me.  Haven't 
you  got  any  father  or  mother  or  anything? 

VIOLET.  (Not  gloomily)  No.  I've  got  a  second 
cousin  in  Belfast — I've  never  met  him. 

CLARENCE.  I've  got  an  aunt — in  Honolulu.  She 
used  to  write  to  me  for  money  sometimes.  I  don't 
believe  she'd  be  much  help. 

VIOLET.     Not  in  an  emergency,  I  should  think. 

CLARENCE.  (Cheerfully)  Yes — we — seem  to 
have  an  emergency. 

VIOLET.  (Looking  up  at  him)  "We  ?"  I'm  sim 
ply  going  in  town  to  an  agency  and  wait  till  they 
find  something  for  me. 

CLARENCE.  Suppose  your — funds — didn't  hold 
out  till  they  did  ? 

VIOLET.  Oh,  but  they  will!  (She  means  they 
must.) 

CLARENCE.  Mine  wouldn't.  I  wonder  if  Delia 
happens  to  know  of  a  good  hotel  where  they 
need 

VIOLET.  (Sincerely)  I  have  a  full  month's 
check;  paid  this  morning.  I'll  lend  you  half  of  :t 
till  you  find  out. 


CLARENCE  109 

CLARENCE.  (Stares  at  her;  then  speaks  rather 
huskily)  You  will? 

VIOLET.     (Quietly)    Why,  of  course. 

CLARENCE.  Be  careful ;  I  might  do  something 
queer ! 

VIOLET.  (With  dry  naivete)  "Be  careful" — of 
my  money  ? 

CLARENCE.  No.  Be  careful  now.  Of  talking 
about  lending  me  half  of  it. 

VIOLET.     Don't  you  suppose  I  meant  it? 

CLARENCE.  Yes.  That's  why  I  might  do  'some 
thing  queer.  (She  looks  up  at  him  in  increasing 
puzzlement.) 

VIOLET.     Queer?     (Turns  a  little.) 

CLARENCE.  (Profoundly  in  earnest)  Don't 
worry.  I'm  all  right  again.  There's  something  I 
want  to  tell  you.  It's  about  myself.  I  don't  believe 
I've  mentioned  it.  I  have  mentioned  a  lot  of  things 
about  myself 

VIOLET.    Well,  not  a  "lot"— but— some. 

CLARENCE.  Nothing's  so  stupid  as  a  man  going 
about  telling  everyone  all  about  his  private  affairs 
— I'm  afraid  I  talk  about  myself  too  much  altogether. 
Of  course,  it  was  disgustingly  conceited  on  my  part 
to  think  Mr.  Wheeler  had  looked  me  up — but  wasn't 
it  natural  to  think  he'd  do  that  when  Mrs.  Martyn 
had  my  name?  I  suppose  I  often  forget  I'm  a  spe 
cialist  and  that  business  men,  of  course,  don't  know 
much  about  'such  people  as  entomologists. 

VIOLET.  '(Not  knowing,  herself)  I — suppose 
they — don't. 

CLARENCE.  (Going  on  with  an  enthusiasm  that 
increases)  On  the  other  hand,  doesn't  it  seem 
strange  they  don't?  My  subject  is  of  the  most 
august  proportions  in  the  world.  The  coleoptera  are 
the  largest  division  of  the  animal  kingdom.  They 
outnumber  mere  human  beings  by  billions  of  billions. 


1 10  CLARENCE 

Not  held  in  check  they  would  sweep  the  whole  of 
mankind  from  the  earth  like  a  breath ! 

VIOLET.     They  would? 

CLARENCE.  (Going  on  ivith  still  greater  spirit  and 
enthusiasm)  I  say  I  am  !an  expert  on  them ;  that 
only  means  I  know  most  of  the  little  we  know  about 
them:  our  ignorance  is  still  of  the  dark  ages!  Mr. 
Wheeler  is  an  expert  on  dollars.  Anybody  can  know 
all  about  dollars.  Put  all  the  wealth  of  all  the  na 
tions  together  and  you  get  a  sum  that  can  be  spoken 
in  hundreds  of  billions,  whereas  the  coleoptera  con 
sist  of  eighty-thousand  species  and  the  population 
of  a  single  one  of  those  eighty  thousand  species 
alone  outnumbers  the  dollars  of  all  the  nations  of 
the  earth  as  stupendously  as  the  dollars  of  those 
nations  outnumber  the  dollars  in  Mr.  Wheeler's 
pocket !  No,  no ;  there's  no  reason  for  him  to  feel 
superior.  No,  no,  indeed !  Nobody  need  set  up  to 
be  snobbish  about  beetles! 

VIOLET.  (Startled)  Beetles!  Are  the  co-cole- 
optera — are  they  just  beetles? 

CLARENCE.  (Amazed)  Why!  Didn't  you 
know? 

VIOLET.     I — I  don't,  believe  many  people — do. 

CLARENCE.  No.  I  suppose  they  don't.  Each 
man  to  his  trade — 'I've  heard  a  politician  get  as  ex 
cited  about  politics — or  a  minister  about  his  congre 
gation — as  I  do  about  the  coleoptera !  You  wouldn't 
believe  it,  but 

VIOLET.  (Interrupting)  Yes,  I  believe  it.  I  be 
lieve  everything  you  say — but  you  said  you  wanted  to 
tell  me  something  about  your  private  affairs.  You 
didn't  mean  the  co-leoptera,  did  you  ? 

CLARENCE.  (Remembering)  Yes ;  in  a  way  their 
affairs  'are  mine.  What  I  wanted  to  tell  you  is  that 
it's  possible  we  'sha'n't  need  to  worry  about  money. 

VIOLET.     (Frowning)  Possible  that  "we"  sha'n't  ? 

CLARENCE.    We  might  not,  after  this  morning's 


CLARENCE  in 

mail.  You  see,  'before  the  "War  I  wa's  on  potato- 
bugs 

VIOLET.     (Disturbed)    You  were? 

CLARENCE.  Oh,  yes ;  I  was  a  long  time  on  potato- 
bugs. 

VIOLET.     Are  they  co-le-op 

CLARENCE.  Absolutely.  You  see,  by  finding1  their 
worst  enemies 

VIOLET.  Enemies?  You  mean  people  that  hate 
potato-bugs  ? 

CLARENCE.  No !  Other  bugs  that  hate  'em.  At 
least  they  don't  get  on  with  them.  The  enemies  are 
altogether  too  much  for  the  potato-bugs,  you  see; 
and  by  getting  the  potato-bugs  and  their  enemies 
together,  of  course  you  save  the  potatoes. 

VIOLET.  But  I  should  think  their  enemies 
might 

CLARENCE.  No.  Their  enemies  don't  like  po 
tatoes. 

VIOLET.     (Sincerely)    How  strange! 

CLARENCE.  (Enthusiastically)  It's  one  of  the 
most  fortunate  things  in  the  world!  If  they  both 
liked  'em  there  wouldn't  be  any  potatoes.  Now,  the 
potato-bug (As  if  lecturing.) 

VIOLET.  {Interrupting)  But  surely  this  isn't 
what  you  wanted  to  tell  me  about  yourself? 

CLARENCE.  Yes,  it  i's.  (In  the  same  tone  as  be 
fore)  Now,  the  potato-bug— -the  potato-bug  has 
several  acknowledged  authorities,  and  I  was  one  of 
'em. 

VIOLET.     (Nodding)    Of  course. 

CLARENCE.  My  assistant  was  even  more  so !  I'm 
more  a  general  authority;  he's  all  potato-bug;  he's 
spent  sixteen  years  on  potato-bugs ;  and  he's  the 
oldest  potato-bug  man  in  the  world  to-day !  He  is  ! 
He's  a  good  general  bug  man,  too,  a  fine  all-round 
bug  man,  but  when  it  comes  to  potato-bugs,  he  can 
eat  any  other  bug  man  alive ! 


112  CLARENCE 

VIOLET.  (Seriously)  He  can? 
CLARENCE.  Yes,  when  I  went  into  the  army,  this 
assistant  of  mine  was  appointed  to  the  position  I'd 
held ;  and  it  was  what  he  deserved.  When  I  got 
out  of  the  army  I  knew  if  I  went  back  there  the 
trustees  would  put  me  in  again,  and  he'd  be  dropped, 
so  I  decided  it  was  only  decent  not  'to  disturb  him, 
but  I  had  spent  a  lot  of  money  on  outside  experi 
ments,  and  I  had  to  do  something.  However,  I  dis 
covered  that  during  a  period  of  economic  reconstruc 
tion  after  a  world  war  there  are  extremely  limited 
openings,  for  a  specialist  on  the  coleoptera. 

VIOLET.  (Gently,  her  eyes  lowered)  You  had  a 
pretty  hard  time • 

CLARENCE.     Not  compared  to  some  of  the  others. 

VIOLET.  But  I  understood  you  to  say  you  might 
be  all  right  if  you  get  a  letter  you're  expecting  by 
this  morning's  mail. 

CLARENCE.  No.  I  said  *<we."  I  said  we  might 
be  all  right. 

VIOLET.  (Genuinely  perplexed)  But  I  don't 
see 

CLARENCE.  Why,  yes.  It  will  all  depend  on  the 
letter.  You  see,  several  days  ago  the  papers  said 
my  assistant  had  been  called  to  Washington  by  the 
Department  of  Agriculture  and  he'd  accepted.  So 
you  see  where  that  migbt  put  us,  right  away. 

VIOLET.  "Put  us?"  I  don't  see  where  it  might 
put  anything! 

CLARENCE.     But  my  dear 

VIOLET.  (Turning,  not  angrily,  but  disturbed  of 
mind)  What? 

CLARENCE.     My  dear  Miss  Pinney 

VIOLET.     Oh  !    (Meaning  "Oh,  I  see!") 

CLARENCE.  Don't  you  see;  that  left  me  free  to 
write  the  laboratory  that  I  was  out  of  the  army — so 
I  did  write  'em  yesterday,  and  if  they  think  half  as 
much  of  me  as  a  coleopterist,  as  I  do  of  myself, 


CLARENCE  113 

they'll  have  my  re-appointment  in  this  morning's 
mail  and  we'll  be  all  right. 

VIOLET.  (Impatiently)  But  "we,"  "we!"  You 
keep  saying  "we !" 

CLARENCE.  Well,  by  that  I  mean  us.  I  couldn't 
ask  for  a  better  salary. 

VIOLET.  (Bothered,  but  not  cross)  Oh,  it's  you 
that  are  going  to  lend  money  now — if  your  letter 
comes?  Would  you  lend  me—half  of  it? 

CLARENCE.  I  thought  probably — the  best  way 
would  be — would  be  for  you  to  take  charge  of  all  of 
it — as  it  comes  in — and  let  me  have  what  I  need 
when  I  need  it ! 

VIOLET.     (Incredulous)    You  thought 

CLARENCE.     Yes.    Wouldn't  you  do  that  ? 

VIOLET.  (Turns  -from  him,  then  again  to  him) 
That's  a  curious  speech  for  a  man  to  make,  when 
only  last  night  I  was  told  I  was  mistaken  about  his 
very  name ! 

CLARENCE.  Why,  how  could  you  have  been  mis 
taken  about  rny  name  ? 

VIOLET.  I  couldn't,  of  course;  but  Mr.  Wheeler 
thought  I  was.  That's  the  "foolish  point"  I  tdld 
you  we  were  both  disagreeable  about.  He  .thinks 
your  name  is  "Smun." 

CLARENCE.  Why,  nobody's  name  is  "Smun !"  It 
can't  be! 

VIOLET.  Th'atfs  what  I  told  him — so  often  he  be 
gan  to  hate  me,  I  think !  But  he  insisted  "Smun" 
was  the  name  you  gave  Mrs.  Martyn. 

CLARENCE.     Naturally,  you  knew  better. 

VIOLET.  Naturally!  I  told  him  what  it  was; 
but  why  did  Mrs.  Martyn  tell  him  it  was  "Smun"? 

CLARENCE.  I  suppose  I  must  have  mumbled  it; 
people  with  ordinary  names  nearly  always  do. 

VIOLET.  I  don't  think  your  name's  very  "ordi 
nary." 


II4  CLARENCE 

•CLARENCE.  *(  Anxiously)  Don't  you?  People 
usually  do,  but  I'm  glad  you  don't. 

VIOLET.     Of  course  I  don't. 

CLARENCE.  Do  you  think  —  beetles  —  are  all  right, 
too?  At  least,  I  hope  you  could  enjoy  them? 

VIOLET.  (Seriously,  not  shyly)  I  don't  know 
enough  about  them  to  say. 

CLARENCE.  I  could  tell  you  a  little  ;  it  wouldnH 
take  long. 

VIOLET.     How  long? 

CLARENCE.    About  as  long  as  I  live. 

VIOLET.     (Qitickly)    Oh,  no! 

CLARENCE.  (Quickly)  You  can  only  tell  a  little 
about  beetles  in  a  lifetime.  Of  course,  we'd  often 
speak  of  other  things  —  or  wouldn't  we? 

VIOLET.  (Seriously  and  quickly)  Why,  we'd  — 
have  to. 

CLARENCE.  (Quickly)  Then  we  will.  Is  your 
bag  packed? 

VIOLET.  (Breathlessly)  It's  right  by  the  door 
of  my  room. 

CLARENCE.  I'll  get  'em  both.  Where's  your 
trunk  ? 

VIOLET.     (Gulping)    It*s  —  ready. 

CLARENCE.  We'll  send  for  it!  (Exit  rapidly  L. 
VIOLET  sinks  down  in  a  corner  of  the  sofa,  looking 
dazed.) 


enters  up  R.  in  the  sun-room  with  let 
ters;  rolled^  magazines  and  circulars  on  a  tray; 
he  sets  this  upon  piano,  and  goes  out  up  R. 
BOBBY'S  voice  is  heard  off  up  R.  DINWIDDIE 
exits  c.  to  R.  garden.) 

BOBBY.     (Off)    Morning  mail  in,  Dinwiddie? 

DINWIDDIE.     Yes,  sir,  on  the  piano. 

CORA.  {Off)  Hoop-la!  (She  runs  on  up  R. 
Halts  in  the  sun-room  staring  L.  BOBBY  follows 
her.) 


CLARENCE  115 

BOBBY.  (Amazed,  staring  L.  also)  Why,  look 
at  Father  and  Mamma ! 

CORA.     I  am  looking  ait  'an! 

BOBBY.     He's  got  his  arm  around  her! 

CORA.  (Slowly  and  dreamily)  That's  all  Clar 
ence's  influence. 

BOBBY.  Well,  you  cert'n'ly  have  got  an  imagina 
tion  !  (Shouting)  Hey !  Papa !  Morning  mail's 
here ! 

CORA.  (Indignantly)  Is  that  your  idea  of  what 
to  do  when  you  see  anybody  with  their  arm  around 
somebody?  Why  couldn't  you  leave  'em  alone? 
(Coming  down  to  piano.) 

BOBBY.  I  don't  like  to  see  papa  gettin'  so  soft. 
(Coming  down  to  piano.) 

CORA.  I  guess  he  wouldn't  be  your  father  if 
he  wasn't  pretty  impressionable! 

BOBBY.  (Examining  letters  with  her)  It's  you 
he  inherits  that  from! .  Here's  a  couple  of  circulars 
for — {Taking  it  to  VIOLET,  speaks  tenderly) — for — 
you — Violet. 

(^VIOLET  rises  and  goes  toward  piano.) 

CORA.  (Huskily  commenting)  He  certainly 
ought  to  be  in  school.  (Almost  musingly.) 

VIOLET.  (In  a  low,  absent  voice,  not  looking  at 
him)  Thanks.  (Takes  them  absently;  not  opening 
them.  He  returns  to  the  table.  CORA  stands  near 
the  piano  with  magazines.  Comes  and  sits  chair 
L.C,,  opens  them.  In  a  troubled  voice)  Is  there  a 
letter  there  for — for  Mr.  Moon? 

BOBBY.    Who? 

CORA.  (Sharply)  For  Clarence!  (To  VIOLET j 
I  think  it's  wonderful ;  all  this  mystery  about  him 
and  the  cannibals  and  the  saxophone  and  everything. 
He's  perfectly  certain  to  turn  out  to  belong  to  an 
old  Knickerbocker  millionaire  family  with  a  yacht 
and  all  the  old  clubs — and  a  valet. 


ii6  CLARENCE 

BOBBY.    His  name's  Smun! 

CORA.    It  is  not!     It's  Moon!     (Crosses  up  c.) 

BOBBY.  (Crossly)  Well,  there  isn't  any  letter 
here  for  either  of  'em! 

VIOLET.     (Gently)    Are  you  sure? 

BOBBY.  (Calmly)  I'm  always  sure.  ( VIOLET 
crosses  down  R.) 

CORA.  (Comes  down  c.  to  BOBBY.  Looking  at 
him  with  concentration)  My !  I'll  be  sorry  for  the 
woman  that  marries  you ;  you  already  talk  just  like 
a  regular  little  man!  (Crosses  to  c.  MRS.  WHEELER 
enters  up  L.  ;  stands  in  sun-room  unobserved.  CORA 
goes  on)  If  you  want  me  to  explain  that,  I'll  merely 
mention  it's  meant  for  an  insult.  (Plaintively)  I 
don't  know  how  I  live  in  the  same  house  with  you ! 
(Crosses  to  table) 

MRS,  WHEELER.  (Amiably,  coming  down) 
You're  not  going  to,  Cora,  very  long.  Your  father's 
decided  on  a  school  for  you — next  week. 

CORA.  He  has  ?  Well,  if  it  weren't  for — for  just 
one  thing — I'd  say  "Father's  right  for  one !" 

BOBBY.     What  "one  thing?" 

CORA.    '(Gulping)     Well — it's  a  person. 

MRS.  W.  (Going  to  VIOLET,  who  rises)  Clar 
ence  has  just  spoken  to  us — out  there.  (Takes  her 
hand)  He  tells  us  you're  going.  I'm  really  sorry ! 

BOBBY.     (Startled)     Who's  going? 

VIOLET.     (Gently)     I  am. 

BOBBY.     When  ? 

VIOLET.     Why — this  morning. 

BOBBY.  (Gulping)  Why,  when  am  I  goin'  to 
see  you  again  ? 

VIOLET.  (Gently,  gravely)  Why,  whenever  you 
like,  when  you  have  a  vacation. 

MRS.  W.     You're  going,  too,  to-morrow,  Bobby. 

BOBBY.     (Dazed)    I  am? 

MRS.  W.  {Nodding  amiably)  Your  father's  got 
the  school  to  take  you  back.  (Crosses  to  L.  Enter 


CLARENCE  117 

WHEELER  and  CLARENCE,  carrying  hat,  overcoat  and 
glove's.) 

BOBBY.  (His  voice  breaking)  He  did?  'fCoRA 
iggles  irrepressibly.  He  whirls  fiercely  upon  her) 

ou  hush  up!  (She  dodges  him  gaily;  he  sinks 
morbidly  into  a  chair.) 

CORA.     (Merrily  taunting)    Oh,  Bobby ! 

WHEELER.     Miss  Pinney  .  .  . 

VIOLET.     Yes,  Mr.  Wheeler? 

WHEELER.  Clarence  has  just  told  me  you've  de 
cided— -you've  both  decided — on  taking  a  step  much 
more  important  than  merely  leaving  this  house. 

('CLARENCE  comes  down.) 

CORA.  (Mystified  but  not  troubled)  What's 
papa  talking  about  ?  ( She  is  by  the  table.) 

VIOLET.  (Troubled  to  WHEELER,)  I'm  afraid 
part  of  his  plan  may  'have  to — be  postponed. 

CLARENCE.  If  any  part  of  my  plan  is  postponed, 
it  won't  be  that  part  of  it ! 

VIOLET.     (Troubled)     Your  letter — didn't  come. 

CLARENCE.  (Dismayed)  It  didn't?  (Turning 
up  a  little  to  the  table)  Why,  it  had  to ! 

CORA.  (Shaking  her  head — goes  up  to  piano) 
No.  There  wasn't  any  letter  for  you,  Clarence. 
There  were  two  for  Violet  and  some  magazines  and 
circulars,  and  all  the  rest  is  for  papa  and  mamma. 

CLARE-NCE.     But  it^s  got  to  be  there. 

CORA.  No.  That's  all  there  is;  there  isn't  a 
single  solitary  'Other  letter  except  just  this  one  that'll 
have  to  be  sent  to  the  Dead  Letter  Office  because 
it's  addressed  to  somebody  that  doesn't  live  here  at 
all.  It's  addressed  trC.  Smith,  Esquire,"  care  of 
papa. 

CLARENCE.     But,  good  heavens,  that's  it! 

CORA.     (Loudly)    What ! 

CLARENCE.     (Taking  it)     "C.   Smith,"  Clarence 


ii8  CLARENCE 


Smith  r-^-of  course  it's  it  !  You  gave  me  a  fright  ! 
(There  is  a  general  exclamation  of  profound  amaze 
ment.  CORA  immediately  runs  up  to  table  for 
"Who's  Who!') 

WHEELER.     Smith  ?     Clarence  Smith! 

VIOLET.     (Dazed)    "Smith!" 

(She  whispers  the  words,  staring  front;  her  mouth 
remains  open  as  she  sinks  into  a  settee.  CLAR 
ENCE  is  seriously  occupied  reading  the  letter. 
CORA  comes  down  to  the  table  with  "Who's 
Who,"  rapidly  turning  the  pages.) 

CORA.  It''s  a  1916  "Who's  Who  in  America"  — 
before  the  war,  that  is.  "S"—  "S"—  "Satterthwaite" 
—  "Smalley"  -  (Loudly  and  emphatically) 
Smith!  Clarence  Smith  !  -  He's  the  very  first  Smith 
there  is  in  it!  (Reading)  "Clarence  Smith,  zo 
ologist.  B'orn,  June,  I3tfa,  1890,  at  Zubesi  Mission 
Station,  Congo  River,  Africa  -  (Looking  up) 
Well,  I  should  say  he  did  have  cannibals  !  (Read 
ing  again)  Son  of  Gabriel  C,  Medical  Missionary, 
and  Mardia  S.,  Grad.  Coll.  Physical  Science  New- 
castle-on-Tyne,  England.  Postgrad.  Polytechnique, 
France.  D.S.C.  -  (Repeating)  "D.S.C." 

BOBBY.  It  means  he''s  a  Doctor  of  Science.  I 
had  a  prof,  was  one  —  ole  Doc.  Toser! 

CORA.  (Reading)  "Doctor  of  Science.  Chief 
en  —  en  —  iomologist"  -  (Looking  up  inquiringly) 

CLARENCE.  (Absently,  not  looking  up  from  his 
letter)  "Entomologist.  It  means  •some'body  that 
studies  bugs. 

CORA.  (Gravely)  Bugs?  How  lovely!  (Read 
ing  again)  Chief  ento-tomologist  and  curator  of 
entomology,  Sturtevant  Biological  Laboratories. 
Fellow  N.  Y.  Acad.  Sciences  ;  mem.  N.  Y.  Zoological 
Soc  —  society  —  Address  Sturtevant  Biological  Labor 
atories,  N.  Y.  (Looking  up,  dazed)  Did  you  ever 


CLARENCE  119 

hear  anything  like  it?    And  that  just  means  Clar 
ence! 

VIOLET.  (Huskily)  Smith!  Clarence  Smith! 
{Rising) 

(CLARENCE  has  finished  the  letter  and  hears  her. 
He  comes  to  her.) 

CLARENCE.  (Slowly)  Why,  you  knew  it  was 
Smith,  didn't  you  ? 

VIOLET.  (Still  dazed,  shakes  her  head  dumbly 
before  speaking,  huskily)  No.  No,  I  didn't. 

CLARENCE.  Is  it — is  it  going  to  make  a  differ 
ence? 

VIOLET.  (Groping  forwards — rises)  I  couldn't 
—I  couldn't — -— 

CLARENCE.  You  mean  you  couldn't — because  it'-s 
Smith  ? 

VIOLET.  (Just  over  a  whisper,  brokenly) 
"Smith's"— beautiful! 

CLARENCE.  (Gently)  Yes — it  will  be.  (She 
looks  up  at  him.) 

CORA.  (Disturbed  to  MRS.  WHEELER  j  What  are 
they  talking  about? 

MRS.  WHEELER.  (Smiling)  Sh!  They're  go 
ing  to  be  married.  (Almost  a  whisper,  but  briskly) 

CORA.     (In  a  feeble  voice)     Wrhat? 

(BOBBY  comes  down.) 

CLARENCE.  I've  got  our  things  at  the  door,  and 
I  telephoned  for  a  car.  It''s  here. 

VIOLET.  (Tremulously,  pathetically)  Do  you 
think  I  can  go  'way  with  you  like  this — when  I've 
just  found  out  your  name?  (She  gives  him  her 
hand  for  an  instant.) 

CLARENCE.  Oh,  Violet!  (He  means  it,  pro 
foundly,  as  a  lover,  but  it  has  unintentionally,  much 
the  effect  of  CORA'S  "Oh,  Clarence!") 


120  CLARENCE 

BOBBY.  (Approaching)  Vidlet (Gulps. 

She  looks  at  him;  he  is  unable  to  bear  it.  Spenks 
hastily,  with  a  choke)  I'll  go  help — carry  out  your 
baggage!  (Exits  hurriedly  L.) 

CLARENCE.  (Heartily,  shaking  hands  with 
WHEELER )  Good-bye  and  thank  you,  Mr.  Wheeler ! 

WHEELER.  (Earnestly)  Good  luck  to  you,  Doc 
tor  Smith!  (No  emphasis  on  "Doctor") 

WARNING 

VIOLET.     (Gasping)    Doctor 

WHEELER.  Why,  certainly;  Doctor  of  Science. 
He's  called  "Doctor,"  of  course. 

CLARENCE.  (Crosses  in  front  of  VIOLET — shak 
ing  MRS.  WHEELER'S  hand)  You've  been  so  kind, 
Mrs.  Wheeler.  (Quickly  going  on  to  CORA)  Good 
bye,  Cora. 

CORA.  (Looking  straight  front,  her  hands  already 
behind  her)  I  won't.  (Speaks  quickly  but  not 
loudly.) 

MRS.  W.  (Quickly  and  cordially)  Oh,  we're  all 
coming  out  to  see  you  off.  (They  all  move  to  L. 
except  CLARENCE  and  CORA)  We'll  say  good-bye 
out  there! 

(Exit  L.,  taking  WHEELER'S  'arm  at  the  door.  VIO 
LET  runs  back  and  kisses  CORA  on  the  cheek, 
hurriedly,  and  then  runs  out  L.  CORA  is  un 
changed  in  adamantine  attitude,  though  a  very 
short  sniff  is  heard  from  her.) 

CLARENCE.     Good-bye,  Cora. 
CORA.     I  won't. 

CLARENCE.     Won't  you  say  good-bye  to  me? 
CORA.     (Unchanging)     I  'won't !     I  hate  engaged 
men !    I  hate  'em,  I  hate  'em,  I  hate  'em ! 

CLARENCE.     Won't  you  say  good-bye  to  me,  dear? 
CORA.     I  won't.     (Then  suddenly,  but  still  look- 


CLARENCE  121 

ing  straight  forward)  What'd  Violet  say  if  she 
heard  you  were  already  around  callin'  other  women 
"dear"? 

CLARENCE.  Well — (Moves  TL.) — if  you  won't  sfay 
good-bye  I'll  have  to  go  and  confess  it  to  her!  (He 
looks  back  from  the  doorway)  Good-bye? 

CORA.  ( Not  moving  anything  but  her  eyes,  which 
follow  him  sidelong)  I  hate  'em,  I  hate  'em,  I  hate 
'em !  (CLARENCE  makes  a  gesture  of  farewell  and 
resignation;  Exit  L.  CORA  sinks  into  a  chair  L.c. 
just  behind  her,  unchanged,  repeating  mechanically) 
I  hate  'em,  I  hate  'em,  etc. 

(MRS.  WHEELER  enters  "L.,  smiling,  but  with  tears 
in  her  eyes.    CORA  continues.) 

MRS.  WHEELER.  (As  she  comes)  They  were 
dears !  Wasn't  'he  lovely  ?  Cora !  Didn't  you  tell 
them  good-bye  ?  (CLARENCE  is  seen  outside  the  sun- 
room  window  up  c.  in  bright  sunshine.  He  raises 
the  window.  MRS.  WHEELER  goes  up,  exclaiming) 
Oh,  look ;  it''s  Clarence ;  he  wants  you  to 

CLARENCE.     (Calling  in)    Good-bye,  Cora  dear! 

(CoRA  leaps  up  suddenly.) 

CORA.  (In  a  loud,  tremulous,  sweet  voice)  Oh, 
good-bye!  (She  runs  up,  ^vaving  her  handkerchief. 
He  waves  his  hat,  shouting  "Good  luck!  Good 
bye!"  and  runs  off  to  L.  outside.  MRS.  WHEELER 
goes  to  window,  waving  her  handkerchief.  CORA 
comes  down,  not  weeping  but  swallowing.  She  sits 
again.  Swallowing,  gently)  Oh,  Clarence ! 

CURTAIN 


"CLARENCE" 

PROPERTY  PLOT 

ACT   I 

3  high-back  settees. 

1  library  table. 

2  straight-back  upholstered  chairs. 
I  straight-back  mahogany  chair. 

I  mahogany  clock. 

I  upholstered  armchair. 

I  box  cigars  off  stage  L. 

Note-book. 

I  large  engagement  book. 

I  pencil  (Eversharp). 

ACTS  II,  III,  IV 

I  piano  and  bench. 
I  lamp 

I  mahogany  armchair. 
I  small  couch. 
I  pedestal  with  Chinese  god. 
I  piano  cover  (black  and  gold). 
12  sheets  music  (on  piano). 
Large  couch. 

I  ferge  table  behind  couch. 
I  writing  table. 

1  chair  for  writing  table. 

2  small  vases. 
Saxaphone,  off-stage  R. 

122 


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CLARENCE  123 

I  upholstered  chair. 

I  side  table. 

i  vase  on  side  table. 

I  small,  straight-back  chair. 

1  vase  on  mantel. 

2  small  tin-painted  flowers  on  mantel. 
Stationery  in  desk — blotter  (blue) — Ink  on  stand, 

pens. 

i  brass  bowl  with  autumn  leaves. 
Fireplace. 

i  bowl,  with  flowers — on  piano. 
I  ash  receiver — table  behind  couch, 
i  bowl  cosmos — same. 
4  newspapers. 
i  book  blocks  with  books. 
Magazines — "Vogue"  and  "Vanity  Fair." 

1  brass  bowl  with  flowers  on  balustrade. 

2  blue  vases  with  autumn  leaves — on  platform, 
i  small  Chinese  rug. 

i  brown  all-over  carpet, 
i  red  all-over  carpet. 
4  pairs  portieres. 

4  pairs  curtains. 

i  strip  red  carpet  on  platform, 
i  carpet  on  stairs. 

1  brass  ash  receiver. 

5  books. 

3  magazines. 

2  vases  on  pedestal  with  flowers. 
2  medallions. 

i  box  Corona  cigars. 

6  other  cigars. 
i  doorbell. 

i  pair  dish  covers  (tin)  for  cymbals, 
i  kitchen  spoon. 
I  tin  tray. 
I  saxaphone. 
6  coffee  cups. 


124  CLARENCE 

6  saucers. 

6  spoons. 

Coffee  pot  with  coffee. 

Sugar  bowl  and  creamer. 

Sugar. 

Spoon  for  sugar. 

Silver  tray. 

I  O'Cedar  mop  for  Delia. 

1  book  off-stage  for  Cora— Act  IV. 
5  encyclopedias. 

Automobile  tools,  including  wrench. 
Letters  on  tray,  Act  IV. 
Newspaper  with  picture  for  Stem. 
Letter  in  envelope  for  Clarence. 
Red  book  for  Cora  on  table — Act  IV. 
Music  for  Mrs.  Wheeler  on  piano. 
Newspaper  for  Mr.  Wheeler— II-IVth  Acts. 
"Vogue"  on  couch  L.— IVth  Act. 
Also  newspapers — IVth  Act. 

2  empty  clothing  boxes  tied  together. 
Cigar  for  Mr.  Wheeler— Act  III. 

Letters  and  circulars  on  salver — Act  IV — off  R. 
Also  containing  letter  for  Clarence. 


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DOROTHY'S  NEIGHBORS. 

A  brand  new  comedy  in  four  acts,  by  Marie  Doran,  author  of 
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An  exceptionally  pretty  comedy  of  Puritan  New  England,  in  threa 
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This  is  the  Lend  A  Hand  Smith  College  prize  play.  It  is  an  admirable  play 
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The  Touch-Down 

A  comedy  in  four  acts,  by  Marion  Short.  8  males,  6  females,  tmt 
any  number  of  characters  can  be  introduced  in  the  disenables.  Cos 
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Hurry,  Hurry,  Hurry 

A  comedy  in  three  acts,  by  LeRoy  Arnold.  5  males,  4  female** 
One  interior  scene.  Costumes  modern.  Plays  2#  hours. 

The  story  is  based  on  the  will  of  an  eccentric  aunt.  It  stipulates 
that  her  pretty  niece  must  be  affianced  before  *vhe  is  twenty-one,  and 
married  to  her  fiance  within  a  year,  if  she  is  to  get  her  spinster 
relative's  million.  Father  has  nice  notions  of  honor  and  fails  to  tell 
daughter  about  the  will,  so  that  she  may  make  her  choice  untrara- 
meled  by  any  other  consideration  than  that  of  true  love.  The  action 
all  takes  place  in  the  evening  the  midnight  of  which  will  see  her 
reach  twenty-one.  Time  is  therefore  short,  and  it  is  hurry,  hurry, 
hurry,  if  she  is  to  become  engaged  and  thus  save  her  father  from 
impending  bankruptcy. 

The  situations  are  intrinsically  funny  and  the  dialogue  is  sprightly. 
The  characters  are  natural  and  unaffected  and  the  action  moves  with 
a  snap  such  as  should  be  expected  frem  its  title.  Price,  30  Cents. 

The  Varsity  Coach 

A  three-act  play  of  college  life,  by  Marion  Short,  specially  adapted 
to  performance  by  amateurs  or  high  school  students.  5  males  4> 
females,  but  any  number  of  boys  and  girls  may  be  introduced  «»  the 
action  of  the  play.  Two  settings  necessary,  a  college  boy's  room  a*4 
the  university  campus.  Time,  about  2  hours. 

Like  many  another  college  boy,  "Beb"  Selby,  an  all-round  popular 
college  man,  becomes  possessed  of  the  idea  that  athletic  prowess  is 
anore  to  be  desired  than  scholarship.  He  is  surprised  in  the  snidst  »f 
A  "spread"  in  his  room  in  Regatta  week  by  a  visit  from  his  aunt 
who  is  putting  him  through  college.  Aunt  Serena,  "a  lady  of  the  old 
school  and  the  dearest  little  woma*i  in  the  whole  world,"  has  hastened 
to  make  this  visit  to  her  adored  nephew  under  the  mistaken  impression 
that  he  is  about  to  receive  the  Fellowes  prize  for  scholarship.  Her 
grief  and  chagrin  when  she  learns  that  instead  of  the  prize  Robert 
has  received  "a  pink  card,"  which  is  equivalent  to  suspension  for  poor 
scholarship,  gives  a  touch  of  pathos  to  an  otherwise  jolly  comedy  of 
college  life.  How  the  repentant  Robert  more  than  redeems  himself, 
carries  off  honors  at  the  last,  and  in  the  end  wins  Ruth,  the  faithful 
little  sweetheart  of  the  "Prom"  and  the  classroom,  makes  a  story  of 
dramatic  interest  and  brings  out  very  clearly  certain  phases  of  modern 
college  life.  There  are  several  opportunities  for  the  introduction  oi 
college  songs  and  "stunts."  Price,  30  Cents. 

r»  he  Above  Are  Subject  te  Royalty  When  P reduced) 
SAMUEL  FRENCH,  25  West  45th  Street,  New  York  City 

few  and  Explicit  Descriptive  Catalogue  Mailed  F^ee  «n 


The  Return  of  Hi  Jinks 

A  comedy  in  four  acts,  by  Marion  Short,  author  of  "The  Varsity 
Coach,"  "The  Touch-Down,"  etc.  6  males,  8  females.  Costumes 
dodern.  One  interior  scene. 

This  comedy  is  founded  upon  and  elaborated  from  a  farce  comedy 
Jn  two  acts  written  by  J.  H.  Horta,  and  originally  produced  at  Tuft's 
College. 

Hkam  Poynter  Jinks,  a  Junior  in  Hoosic  College  (Willie  Collier 
type),  and  a  young  moving  picture  actress  (Mary  Pickford  type),  are 
the  leading  characters  in  this  lively,  modern  farce. 

Thomas  Hodge,  a  Senior,  envious  of  the  popularity  of  Jinks,  wishes 
to  think  up  a  scheme  to  throw  ridicule  upon  him  during  a  visit  of 
the  Hoosic  Glee  Club  to  Jinks's  home  town.  JinJ-s  has  obligingly  acted 
as  a  one-day  substitute  in  a  moving  picture  play,  in  which  there  is  a 
fire  scene,  and  this  gives  H9dge  his  cue.  He  sends  what  seems  to 
be  a  bona  fide  account  of  Jink's  heroism  at  a  Hoosic  fire  to  Jink's 
home  paper.  Instead  of  repudiating  his  laurels  as  expected,  Jinks 
decides  to  take  a  flyer  in  fame,  confirms  the  fake  story,  confesses  to 
being  a  hero  and  is  adored)  by  all  the  girls,  to  the  chagrin  and  dis 
comfiture  of  Hodge.  Of  course,  the  truth  comes  out  at  last,  but 
Jinks  is  not  hurt,  thereby,  and  his  romance  with  Mimi  Mayflower 
comes  to  a  successful  termination. 

This  is  a  great  comedy  for  amateurs.  It  is  full  of  funny  situations 
and  is  sure  to  please.  Price,  30  Cents. 


J 


une 

A  most  successful  comedy-drama  in  four  acts,  by  Marie  Doran, 
author  of  "The  New  Co-Ed,"  "Tempest  and  Sunshine,"  "Dorothy'* 
Neighbors,"  etc.  4  males,  8  females.  One  interior  scene.  Costumes 
modern.  Plays  2J4  hours. 

This  play  has  a  very  interesting  group  of  young  people.  June  i» 
an  appealing  little  figure,  an  orphan  living  with  her  aunt.  There  are 
a  number  of  delightful,  life-like  characters:  the  sorely  tried  likeable 
Mrs.  Hopkins,  the  amusing,  haughty  Miss  Banks  of  the  glove  depart 
ment,  the  lively  Tilly  and  Milly,  who  work  in  the  store,  and  ambitious 
Snoozer;  Mrs.  Hopkins's  only  son,  who  aspires  to  be  President  of  th« 
United  States,  but  finds  his  real  sphere  is  running  the  local  trolley 
car.  The  play  is  simplicity  itself  in  the  telling  of  an  every-day  story, 
and  the  scenic  requirements  call  for  only  one  set,  a  room  in  tha 
boarding  house  of  Mrs.  Hopkins,  while  an  opportunity  is  affotded  to 
introduce  any  number  of  extra  characters.  Musical  numbers  may  be 
introduced,  if  desired.  Price,  30  Cents, 

Tempest  and  Sunshine 

A  comedy  drama  in  four  acts,  by  Marie  Doran.  5  males  and  3 
females.  One  exterior  and  three  interior  scenes.  Plays  about  2  hoursk 

Every  school  girl  has  revelled  in  the  sweet  simplicity  and  gentle 
ness  of  the  characters  interwoven  in  the  charms  that  Mary  J.  Holmes 
commands  in  her  story  of  "Tempest  and  Sunshine."  We  can  strongly 
recenamend  this  play  as  one  of  the  best  plays  for  high  school  pro 
duction  published  in  receat  years.  Price,  30  Cents* 

(The  Above  Are  Subject  to  Royalty  When  Produced) 

BMMOBBIMBnBMBBBMnmMI  •   Illll  IMMMnMMMW«aM««MMHM«aiMMMH«BnN*BB 

SAMUEL  FRENCH,  25  West  45th  Street,  New  York  Cits 

w  and  Explicit  Descriptive  Catalogue  Mailed  Free  on 


JUST  PUBLISHED 

Nothing  But  the  Truth 

A  Farcical  Comedy  in  Three  Acts 

By 

James  Montgomery 
Cast  of  Characters 


Bob  Bennett 

B.  M.  Ralston 

Clarence  Van  Dusen 

Bishop  Doran 

Dick  Donnelly 

Gwen 

Mrs.  Ralston 

Ethel 

Mable 

Sable 

Martha 


SCENES 


ACT  1.    A  Broker's  Office 

ACT  2.     Parlor  of  a  Country  Home 

ACT  3. 

TIME:    The  Present 

"Nothing  But  the  Truth"  is  built  upon  the  simple  idea 
of  its  hero  speaking  nothing  but  the  absolute  truth  for  a 
stated  period.  He  bets  a  friend  ten  thousand  dollars 
that  he  can  do  it,  and  boldly  tackles  truth  to  win  the 
money.  For  a  very  short  time  the  task  is  placidly  easy, 
but  Truth  routs  out  old  man  Trouble  and  then  thing's  be 
gin  to  happen.  Trouble  doesn't  seem  very  large  and 
aggressive  when  he  first  pokes  his  nose  into  the  noble 
resolve  of  our  hero,  but  he  grows  rapidly  and  soon  we 
see  our  dealer  in  truth  disrupting  the  domestic  relations 
of  his  partner.  In  fact,  Trouble  works  overtime,  and 
reputations  that  have  been  unblemished  are  smirched. 
Situations  that  are  absurd  and  complications  almost 
knotted,  pile  up,  all  credited  to  Truth,  and  the  result  of 
the  wager  to  foster  and  cherish  that  great  virtue  from 
the  lips  of  the  man  who  has  espoused  the  cause  of  truth 
to  win  a  wager. 

It  is  a  novel  idea  and  so  well  has  it  been  worked  out 
that  an  audience  is  kept  in  throes  of  laughter  at  the 
seemingly  impossible  task  to  untangle  snarls  into  which, 
our  hero  has  involved  all  those  he  comes  into  contact 
with.  It  is  a  clean  bright  farce  of  well  drawn  character* 
and  was  built  for  laughing  purposes  only. 

William  Collier  played  "Nothing  But  the  Truth"  for  a 
year  at  the  Longacre  Theatre,  New  York,  and  it  has  been 
on  tour  for  over  two  seasons. 

After  three  years  continuous  success  on  the  profess 
ional  stage  we  are  now  offering  "Nothing  But  the  Truth" 
for  amateur  production.  It  is  one  of  the  funniest  and 
brightest  farces  ever  written,  and  it  is  admirably  suited 
r*>  amateur  production. 

60  CENTS 


Xj^x^/  •••••••••••" 

ERSITY   OF   CALIFORNIA         LIBRARY    OF   THE   UNIVERSITY   OF   CALIFORNIA 


GENERAL  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA— BERKELEY 

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